THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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THE  WRITINGS   OF 
BRET  HARTE 

WITH  INTRODUCTIONS,  GLOSSARY,  AND 

INDEXES 

ILL  USTRA  TED  B  Y  PHO  TOGRA  VURES 
VOLUME   IV 


The  woman  .  .  .  stood  before  him 


XDrftt'ttgsf  of  Bwt  %  art* 


STANDARD  LIBRARY  EDITION 


i 


x 


HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 


es  of  California  anD  tije 
II 


IN  THE  CARQUINEZ  WOODS 
AND   OTHER  TALES 


BY 

BRET   HARTE 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

<3tfre  fiibewibe  pres£,  Cambribge 


Copyright,  1884,  1885,  1887,  and  1889, 
BY  BKET  HARTE. 

Copyright,  1883  and  1896, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIPFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U,  8.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


PS 


las 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

IN  THE  CARQUINEZ  WOODS 1 

A  BLUE  GRASS  PENELOPE 126 

LEFT  OUT  ON  LONE  STAR  MOUNTAIN 192 

A  SHIP  OF  '49 223 

AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES 306 

DEVIL'S  FORD 335 

A  SECRET  OF  TELEGRAPH  HILL        .......  417 


90-7884 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

i 

THE  WOMAN  .  .  .  STOOD  BEFORE  HIM  (See 

page  6)  Frontispiece Alice  Barber  Stephens 

VIGNETTE  ON  ENGRAVED  TITLE-PAGE    .    .  Charles  H.  Woodbury 

SHE  CAUGHT  HIM  BY  THE  KNEES  ....  Alice  Barber  Stephens 

HE  LOOKED  CURIOUSLY  AT  HIS   REFLECTION      E.  Boyd  Smith    .      .      . 

BREAK  FOR  THE  TULES E.  Boyd  Smith  .    .    . 

DEVIL'S  FOKD W.  L.  Taylor    .    .    . 


STORIES    OF    CALIFORNIA    AND    THE 
FRONTIER.     II 


IN  THE  CAEQUINEZ  WOODS 
CHAPTER  I 

THE  sun  was  going  down  on  the  Carquinez  Woods. 
The  few  shafts  of  sunlight  that  had  pierced  their  pillared 
gloom  were  lost  in  unfathomable  depths,  or  splintered 
their  ineffectual  lances  on  the  enormous  trunks  of  the  red- 
woods. For  a  time  the  dull  red  of  their  vast  columns, 
and  the  dull  red  of  their  cast-off  bark  which  matted  the 
echoless  aisles,  still  seemed  to  hold  a  faint  glow  of  the 
dying  day.  But  even  this  soon  passed.  Light  and  color 
fled  upwards.  The  dark,  interlaced  treetops,  that  had  all 
day  made  an  impenetrable  shade,  broke  into  fire  here  and 
there;  their  lost  spires  glittered,  faded,  and  went  utterly 
out.  A  weird  twilight  that  did  not  come  from  an  outer 
world,  but  seemed  born  of  the  wood  itself,  slowly  filled 
and  possessed  the  aisles.  The  straight,  tall,  colossal 
trunks  rose  dimly  like  columns  of  upward  smoke.  The 
few  fallen  trees  stretched  their  huge  length  into  obscurity, 
and  seemed  to  lie  on  shadowy  trestles.  The  strange 
breath  that  filled  these  mysterious  vaults  had  neither  cold- 
ness nor  moisture ;  a  dry,  fragrant  dust  arose  from  the 
noiseless  foot  that  trod  their  bark-strewn  floor  :  the  aisles 
might  have  been  tombs ;  the  fallen  trees,  enormous  mum- 
mies ;  the  silence,  the  solitude  of  the  forgotten  past. 

And  yet  this  silence  was  presently  broken  by  a  recurring 


2  IN  THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS 

sound  like  breathing,  interrupted  occasionally  by  inarticu- 
late and  stertorous  gasps.  It  was  not  the  quick,  panting, 
listening  breath  of  some  stealthy  feline  or  canine  animal, 
but  indicated  a  larger,  slower,  and  more  powerful  organi- 
zation, whose  progress  was  less  watchful  and  guarded,  or 
as  if  a  fragment  of  one  of  the  fallen  monsters  had  become 
animate.  At  times  this  life  seemed  to  take  visible  form, 
but  as  vaguely,  as  misshapenly,  as  the  phantom  of  a  night- 
mare. Now  it  was  a  square  object  moving  sideways,  end- 
ways, with  neither  head  nor  tail  and  scarcely  visible  feet ; 
then  an  arched  bulk  rolling  against  the  trunks  of  the  trees 
and  recoiling  again,  or  an  upright  cylindrical  mass,  but  al- 
ways oscillating  and  unsteady,  and  striking  the  trees  on 
either  hand.  The  frequent  occurrence  of  the  movement 
suggested  the  figures  of  some  weird  rhythmic  dance  to 
music  heard  by  the  shape  alone.  Suddenly  it  either  be- 
came motionless  or  faded  away.  There  was  the  frightened 
neighing  of  a  horse,  the  sudden  jingling  of  spurs,  a  shout 
and  outcry,  and  the  swift  apparition  of  three  dancing  torches 
in  one  of  the  dark  aisles ;  but  so  intense  was  the  obscurity 
that  they  shed  no  light  on  surrounding  objects,  and  seemed 
to  advance  at  their  own  volition  without  human  guidance, 
until  they  disappeared  suddenly  behind  the  interposing  bulk 
of  one  of  the  largest  trees.  Beyond  its  eighty  feet  of  cir- 
cumference the  light  could  not  reach,  and  the  gloom  re- 
mained inscrutable.  But  the  voices  and  jingling  spurs 
were  heard  distinctly. 

"  Blast  the  mare  !  She 's  shied  off  that  cursed  trail 
again." 

"Ye  ain't  lost  it  agin,  hev  ye? "  growled  a  second  voice. 

"  That 's  jist  what  I  hev.  And  these  blasted  pine  knots 
don't  give  light  an  inch  beyond  'em.  D — d  if  I  don't 
think  they  make  this  cursed  hole  blacker." 

There  was  a  laugh  —  a  woman's  laugh  —  hysterical, 
bitter,  sarcastic,  exasperating.  The  second  speaker,  with- 
out heeding  it,  went  on :  — 


IN  THE  CAKQUINEZ  WOODS  3 

"  What  in  thunder  skeert  the  bosses  ?  Did  you  see  or 
hear  anything  ?  " 

"  Nothin'.     The  wood  is  like  a  graveyard." 

The  woman's  voice  again  broke  into  a  hoarse,  contemp- 
tuous laugh.  The  man  resumed  angrily  :  — 

11  If  you  know  anything,  why  in  h — 11  don't  you  say  so, 
instead  of  cackling  like  a  d — d  squaw  there  ?  P'r'aps  you 
reckon  you  ken  find  the  trail  too." 

"  Take  this  rope  off  my  wrist,"  said  the  woman's  voice, 
"  untie  my  hands,  let  me  down,  and  I  '11  find  it."  She 
spoke  quickly  and  with  a  Spanish  accent. 

It  was  the  men's  turn  to  laugh.  "  And  give  you  a  show 
to  snatch  that  six-shooter  and  blow  a  hole  through  me,  as 
you  did  to  the  Sheriff  of  Calaveras,  eh  ?  Not  if  this  court 
understands  itself,"  said  the  first  speaker  dryly. 

"Go  to  the  devil,  then,"  she  said  curtly. 

"  Not  before  a  lady,"  responded  the  other.  There  was 
another  laugh  from  the  men,  the  spurs  jingled  again,  the 
three  torches  reappeared  from  behind  the  tree,  and  then 
passed  away  in  the  darkness. 

For  a  time  silence  and  immutability  possessed  the  woods  ; 
the  great  trunks  loomed  upwards,  their  fallen  brothers 
stretched  their  slow  length  into  obscurity.  The  sound  of 
breathing  again  became  audible  ;  the  shape  reappeared  in 
the  aisle,  and  recommenced  its  mystic  dance.  Presently  it 
was  lost  in  the  shadow  of  the  largest  tree,  and  to  the  sound 
of  breathing  succeeded  a  grating  and  scratching  of  bark. 
Suddenly,  as  if  riven  by  lightning,  a  flash  broke  from  the 
centre  of  the  tree-trunk,  lit  up  the  woods,  and  a  sharp 
report  rang  through  it.  After  a  pause  the  jingling  of  spurs 
and  the  dancing  of  torches  were  revived  from  the  distance. 

"Hallo?" 

No  answer. 

"  Who  fired  that  shot  ?  " 

But  there  was  no  reply.     A  slight  veil  of  smoke  passed 


4  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

away  to  the  right,  there  was  the  spice  of  gunpowder  in  the 
air,  but  nothing  more. 

The  torches  came  forward  again,  but  this  time  it  could 
be  seen  they  were  held  in  the  hands  of  two  men  and  a 
woman.  The  woman's  hands  were  tied  at  the  wrist  to  the 
horse-hair  reins  of  her  mule,  while  a  riata,  passed  around 
her  waist  and  under  the  mule's  girth,  was  held  by  one  of 
the  men,  who  were  both  armed  with  rifles  and  revolvers. 
Their  frightened  horses  curveted,  and  it  was  with  difficulty 
they  could  be  made  to  advance. 

"  Ho  !  stranger,  what  are  you  shooting  at  ?  " 

The  woman  laughed,  and  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"Look  yonder  at  the  roots  of  the  tree.  You're  a  d — d 
smart  man  for  a  sheriff,  ain't  you  ?  " 

The  man  uttered  an  exclamation  and  spurred  his  horse 
forward,  but  the  animal  reared  in  terror.  He  then  sprang 
to  the  ground  and  approached  the  tree.  The  shape  lay 
there,  a  scarcely  distinguishable  bulk. 

"  A  grizzly,  by  the  living  Jingo  !  Shot  through  the 
heart." 

It  was  true.  The  strange  shape  lit  up  by  the  flaring 
torches  seemed  more  vague,  unearthly,  and  awkward  in 
its  dying  throes,  yet  the  small  shut  eyes,  the  feeble  nose, 
the  ponderous  shoulders,  and  half-human  foot  armed  with 
powerful  claws  were  unmistakable.  The  men  turned  by  a 
common  impulse  and  peered  into  the  remote  recesses  of  the 
wood  again. 

"  Hi,  mister !  come  and  pick  up  your  game.  Hallo 
there  ! "  The  challenge  fell  unheeded  on  the  empty  woods. 

"And  yet,"  said  he  whom  the  woman  had  called  the 
sheriff,  "  he  can't  be  far  off.  It  was  a  close  shot,  and  the 
bear  hez  dropped  in  his  tracks.  Why,  wot 's  this  sticking 
in  his  claws  ?  " 

The  two  men  bent  over  the  animal.  "  Why,  it 's  sugar, 
brown  sugar  —  look  !  "  There  was  no  mistake.  The  huge 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  5 

beast's  fore  paws  and  muzzle  were  streaked  with  the  unro- 
mantic  household  provision,  and  heightened  the  absurd  con- 
trast of  its  incongruous  members.  The  woman,  apparently 
indifferent,  had  taken  that  opportunity  to  partly  free  one  of 
her  wrists. 

"  If  we  had  n't  been  cavorting  round  this  yer  spot  for 
the  last  half-hour,  I  'd  swear  there  was  a  shanty  not  a 
hundred  yards  away,"  said  the  sheriff.  The  other  man, 
without  replying,  remounted  his  horse  instantly. 

"  If  there  is,  and  it 's  inhabited  by  a  gentleman  that 
kin  make  centre  shots  like  that  in  the  dark,  and  don't 
care  to  explain  how,  I  reckon  I  won't  disturb  him." 

The  sheriff  was  apparently  of  the  same  opinion,  for  he 
followed  his  companion's  example,  and  once  more  led  the 
way.  The  spurs  tinkled,  the  torches  danced,  and  the 
cavalcade  slowly  reentered  the  gloom.  In  another  moment 
it  had  disappeared. 

The  wood  sank  again  into  repose,  this  time  disturbed  by 
neither  shape  nor  sound.  What  lower  forms  of  life  might 
have  crept  close  to  its  roots  were  hidden  in  the  ferns,  or 
passed  with  deadened  tread  over  the  bark-strewn  floor. 
Towards  morning  a  coolness  like  dew  fell  from  above, 
with  here  and  there  a  dropping  twig  or  nut,  or  the  crepi- 
tant  awakening  and  stretching-out  of  cramped  and  weary 
branches.  Later  a  dull,  lurid  dawn,  not  unlike  the  last 
evening's  sunset,  filled  the  aisles.  This  faded  again,  and 
a  clear  gray  light,  in  which  every  object  stood  out  in  sharp 
distinctness,  took  its  place.  Morning  was  waiting  outside 
in  all  its  brilliant,  youthful  coloring,  but  only  entered  as 
the  matured  and  sobered  day. 

Seen  in  that  stronger  light,  the  monstrous  tree  near 
which  the  dead  bear  lay  revealed  its  age  in  its  denuded 
and  scarred  trunk,  and  showed  in  its  base  a  deep  cavity, 
a  foot  or  two  from  the  ground,  partly  hidden  by  hanging 
strips  of  bark  which  had  fallen  across  it.  Suddenly  one 


6  IN   THE   CAKQUINEZ   WOODS 

of  these  strips  was  pushed  aside,  and  a  young  man  leaped 
lightly  down. 

But  for  the  rifle  he  carried  and  some  modern  peculiari- 
ties of  dress,  he  was  of  a  grace  so  unusual  and  unconven- 
tional that  he  might  have  passed  for  a  faun  who  was 
quitting  his  ancestral  home.  He  stepped  to  the  side  of 
the  bear  with  a  light  elastic  movement  that  was  as  unlike 
customary  progression  as  his  face  and  figure  were  unlike 
the  ordinary  types  of  humanity.  Even  as  he  leaned  upon 
his  rifle,  looking  down  at  the  prostrate  animal,  he  uncon- 
sciously fell  into  an  attitude  that  in  any  other  mortal 
would  have  been  a  pose,  but  with  him  was  the  picturesque 
and  unstudied  relaxation  of  perfect  symmetry. 

"  Hallo,  mister  !  " 

He  raised  his  head  so  carelessly  and  listlessly  that  he 
did  not  otherwise  change  his  attitude.  Stepping  from 
behind  the  tree,  the  woman  of  the  preceding  night  stood 
before  him.  Her  hands,  were  free  except  for  a  thong  of 
the  riata,  which  was  still  knotted  around  one  wrist,  the 
end  of  the  thong  having  been  torn  or  burnt  away.  Her 
eyes  were  bloodshot,  and  her  hair  hung  over  her  shoulders 
in  one  long  black  braid. 

"  I  reckoned  all  along  it  was  you  who  shot  the  bear," 
she  said ;  "  at  least  some  one  hidin'  yer,"  and  she  indi- 
cated the  hollow  tree  with  her  hand.  "  It  was  n't  no 
chance  shot."  Observing  that  the  young  man,  either  from 
misconception  or  indifference,  did  not  seem  to  comprehend 
her,  she  added,  "  We  came  by  here  last  night,  a  minute 
after  you  fired." 

"  Oh,  that  was  you  kicked  up  such  a  row,  was  it  ?  " 
said  the  young  man,  with  a  shade  of  interest. 

"  I  reckon,"  said  the  woman,  nodding  her  head,  "  and 
them  that  was  with  me." 

"  And  who  are  they  ?  " 

"  Sheriff  Dunn,  of  Yolo,  and  his  deputy." 


IN  THE  CARQUINEZ  WOODS  7 

"  And  where  are  they  now  ?  " 

"  The  deputy  —  in  h — 11,  I  reckon.  I  don't  know  about 
the  sheriff." 

11 1  see,"  said  the  young  man  quietly  ;  "  and  you  ?  " 

"I — got  away,"  she  said  savagely.  But  she  was  taken 
with  a  sudden  nervous  shiver,  which  she  at  once  repressed 
by  tightly  dragging  her  shawl  over  her  shoulders  and  el- 
bows, and  folding  her  arms  defiantly. 

"  And  you  're  going  ?  " 

"To  follow  the  deputy,  maybe,"  she  said  gloomily. 
"  But  come,  I  say,  ain't  you  going  to  treat  ?  It 's  cursed 
cold  here." 

"Wait  a  moment."  The  young  man  was  looking  at 
her,  with  his  arched  brows  slightly  knit  and  a  half  smile 
of  curiosity.  "  Ain't  you  Teresa  ?  " 

She  was  prepared  for  the  question,  but  evidently  was 
not  certain  whether  she  would  reply  defiantly  or  confi- 
dently. After  an  exhaustive  scrutiny  of  his  face  she 
chose  the  latter,  and  said,  "  You  can  bet  your  life  on  it, 
Johnny." 

"  I  don't  bet,  and  my  name  is  n't  Johnny.  Then 
you  're  the  woman  who  stabbed  Dick  Curson  over  at 
Lagrange's  ?  " 

She  became  defiant  again.  "  That 's  me,  all  the  time. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  Nothing.     And  you  used  to  dance  at  the  Alhambra  ?  " 

She  whisked  the  shawl  from  her  shoulders,  held  it  up 
like  a  scarf,  and  made  one  or  two  steps  of  the  sembi- 
cuacua.  There  was  not  the  least  gayety,  recklessness, 
or  spontaneity  in  the  action ;  it  was  simply  mechanical 
bravado.  It  was  so  ineffective,  even  upon  her  own  feel- 
ings, that  her  arms  presently  dropped  to  her  side,  and  she 
coughed  embarrassedly.  "Where's  that  whiskey,  pard- 
ner  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  young  man  turned  toward  the    tree   he   had  just 


8  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

quitted,  and  without  further  words  assisted  her  to  mount 
to  the  cavity.  It  was  an  irregular-shaped  vaulted  cham- 
ber, pierced  fifty  feet  above  by  a  shaft  or  cylindrical  open- 
ing in  the  decayed  trunk,  which  was  blackened  by  smoke 
as  if  it  had  served  the  purpose  of  a  chimney.  In  one 
corner  lay  a  bearskin  and  blanket ;  at  the  side  were  two 
alcoves  or  indentations,  one  of  which  was  evidently  used 
as  a  table,  and  the  other  as  a  cupboard.  In  another  hol- 
low, near  the  entrance,  lay  a  few  small  sack&  of  flour,  coffee, 
and  sugar,  the  sticky  contents  of  the  latter  still  strewing 
the  floor.  From  this  storehouse  the  young  man  drew  a 
wicker  flask  of  whiskey,  and  handed  it,  with  a  tin  cup  of 
water,  to  the  woman.  She  waved  the  cup  aside,  placed 
the  flask  to  her  lips,  and  drank  the  undiluted  spirit.  Yet 
even  this  was  evidently  bravado,  for  the  water  started  to 
her  eyes,  and  she  could  not  restrain  the  paroxysm  of  cough- 
ing that  followed. 

"  I  reckon  that 's  the  kind  that  kills  at  forty  rods,"  she 
said,  with  an  hysterical  laugh.  "  But  I  say,  pardner,  you 
look  as  if  you  were  fixed  here  to  stay,"  and  she  stared 
ostentatiously  around  the  chamber.  But  she  had  already 
taken  in  its  minutest  details,  even  to  observing  that  the 
hanging  strips  of  bark  could  be  disposed  so  as  to  com- 
pletely hide  the  entrance. 

"  Well,  yes,"  he  replied  ;  "  it  would  n't  be  very  easy  to 
pull  up  the  stakes  and  move  the  shanty  further  on." 

Seeing  that  either  from  indifference  or  caution  he  had  not 
accepted  her  meaning,  she  looked  at  him  fixedly,  and  said, — 

"  What  is  your  little  game  ?  " 

"Eh?" 

"  What  are  you  hiding  for  —  here  in  this  tree  ?  " 

"  But  I  'm  not  hiding." 

"  Then  why  did  n't  you  come  out  when  they  hailed  you 
last  night  ?  » 

"  Because  I  did  n't  care  to." 


IN  THE  CARQUINEZ  WOODS  9 

Teresa  whistled  incredulously.  "  All  right  —  then  if 
you  're  not  hiding,  I  'm  going  to."  As  he  did  not  reply, 
she  went  on :  "  If  I  can  keep  out  of  sight  for  a  couple  of 
weeks,  this  thing  will  blow  over  here,  and  I  can  get  across 
into  Yolo.  I  could  get  a  fair  show  there,  where  the  boys 
know  me.  Just  now  the  trails  are  all  watched,  but  no  one 
would  think  of  lookin'  here." 

"  Then  how  did  you  come  to  think  of  it  ?  "  he  asked 
carelessly. 

"Because  I  knew  that  bear  hadn't  gone  far  for  that 
sugar ;  because  I  knew  he  had  n't  stole  it  from  a  cache  — 
it  was  too  fresh,  and  we  'd  have  seen  the  torn-up  earth ; 
because  we  had  passed  no  camp ;  and  because  I  knew 
there  was  no  shanty  here.  And,  besides,"  she  added  in  a 
low  voice,  "  maybe  I  was  huntin'  a  hole  myself  to  die  in  — 
and  spotted  it  by  instinct." 

There  was  something  in  this  suggestion  of  a  hunted 
animal  that,  unlike  anything  she  had  previously  said  or 
suggested,  was  not  exaggerated,  and  caused  the  young  man 
to  look  at  her  again.  She  was  standing  under  the  chimney- 
like  opening,  and  the  light  from  above  illuminated  her  head 
and  shoulders.  The  pupils  of  her  eyes  had  lost  their  fever- 
ish prominence,  and  were  slightly  suffused  and  softened  as 
she  gazed  abstractedly  before  her.  The  only  vestige  of  her 
previous  excitement  was  in  her  left-hand  fingers,  which  were 
incessantly  twisting  and  turning  a  diamond  ring  upon  her 
right  hand,  but  without  imparting  the  least  animation  to 
her  rigid  attitude.  Suddenly,  as  if  conscious  of  his  scrutiny, 
she  stepped  aside  out  of  the  revealing  light,  and  by  a  swift 
feminine  instinct  raised  her  hand  to  her  head  as  if  to  ad- 
just her  straggling  hair.  It  was  only  for  a  moment,  how- 
ever, for,  as  if  aware  of  the  weakness,  she  struggled  to 
resume  her  aggressive  pose. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  speak  up.  Am  I  goin'  to  stop  here, 
or  have  I  got  to  get  up  and  get  ?  " 


10  IN  THE   CAEQUINEZ  WOODS 

"  You  can  stay,"  said  the  young  man  quietly ;  "  but  as 
I've  got  my  provisions  and  ammunition  here,  and  haven't 
any  other  place  to  go  to  just  now,  I  suppose  we  '11  have  to 
share  it  together." 

She  glanced  at  him  under  her  eyelids,  and  a  half-bitter, 
half-contemptuous  smile  passed  across  her  face.  "All 
right,  old  man,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand,  "  it 's  a  go. 
We  '11  start  in  housekeeping  at  once,  if  you  like." 

"  I  '11  have  to  come  here  once  or  twice  a  day,"  he  said, 
quite  composedly,  "  to  look  after  my  things,  and  get  some- 
thing to  eat ;  but  I  '11  be  away  most  of  the  time,  and  what 
with  camping  out  under  the  trees  every  night  I  reckon  my 
share  won't  incommode  you." 

She  opened  her  black  eyes  upon  him,  at  this  original 
proposition.  Then  she  looked  down  at  her  torn  dress. 
"  I  suppose  this  style  of  thing  ain't  very  fancy,  is  it  ?  "  she 
said,  with  a  forced  laugh. 

"  I  think  I  know  where  to  beg  or  borrow  a  change  for 
you,  if  you  can't  get  any,"  he  replied  simply. 

She  stared  at  him  again.     "  Are  you  a  family  man  ?  " 

"  No." 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  you 
can  tell  your  girl  I  'm  not  particular  about  its  being  in  the 
latest  fashion." 

There  was  a  slight  flush  on  his  forehead  as  he  turned 
toward  the  little  cupboard,  but  no  tremor  in  his  voice  as  he 
went  on  :  "  You  '11  find  tea  and  coffee  here,  and,  if  you  're 
bored,  there's  a  book  or  two.  You  read,  don't  you  —  I 
mean  English  ?  " 

She  nodded,  but  cast  a  look  of  undisguised  contempt 
upon  the  two  worn,  coverless  novels  he  held  out  to  her. 
"You  haven't  got  last  week's  'Sacramento  Union,'  have 
you  ?  I  hear  they  have  my  case  all  in  ;  only  them  lying 
reporters  made  it  out  against  me  all  the  time." 

"I  don't  see  the  papers,"  he  replied  curtly. 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS  11 

"They  say  there's  a  picture  of  me  in  the  'Police  Ga- 
zette/ taken  in  the  act,"  and  she  laughed. 

He  looked  a  little  abstracted,  and  turned  as  if  to  go. 
"  I  think  you  '11  do  well  to  rest  a  while  just  now,  and  keep 
as  close  hid  as  possible  until  afternoon.  The  trail  is  a  mile 
away  at  the  nearest  point,  but  some  one  might  miss  it  and 
stray  over  here.  You  're  quite  safe  if  you  're  careful,  and 
stand  by  the  tree.  You  can  build  a  fire  here,"  he  stepped 
under  the  chimney-like  opening,  "  without  its  being  noticed. 
Even  the  smoke  is  lost  and  cannot  be  seen  so  high." 

The  light  from  above  was  falling  on  his  head  and  shoul- 
ders, as  it  had  on  hers.  She  looked  at  him  intently. 

"  You  travel  a  good  deal  on  your  figure,  pardner,  don't 
you  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  certain  admiration  that  was  quite 
sexless  in  its  quality  ;  "  but  I  don't  see  how  you  pick  up  a 
living  by  it  in  the  Carquinez  Woods.  So  you  're  going, 
are  you  ?  You  might  be  more  sociable.  Good-by." 

"  Good-by  !  "     He  leaped  from  the  opening. 

"  I  say,  pardner  !  " 

He  turned,  a  little  impatiently.  She  had  knelt  down  at 
the  entrance,  so  as  to  be  nearer  his  level,  and  was  holding 
out  her  hand.  But  he  did  not  notice  it,  and  she  quietly 
withdrew  it. 

"  If  anybody  dropped  in  and  asked  for  you,  what  name 
will  they  say  ?  " 

He  smiled.     "  Don't  wait  to  hear." 

"  But  suppose  /  wanted  to  sing  out  for  you,  what  will  I 
call  you  ?  " 

He  hesitated.     "  Call  me  —  Lo." 

"  Lo,  the  poor  Indian  ?  "  l 

"Exactly." 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  the  woman,  Teresa,  that  in  the 
young  man's  height,  supple  yet  erect  carriage,  color,  and 

l  The  first  word  of  Pope's  familiar  apostrophe  is  humorously  used  in  the 
far  West  as  a  distinguishing  title  for  the  Indian. 


12  IN  THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS 

singular  gravity  of  demeanor  there  was  a  refined  aboriginal 
suggestion.  He  did  not  look  like  any  Indian  she  had  ever 
seen,  but  rather  as  a  youthful  chief  might  have  looked. 
There  was  a  further  suggestion  in  his  fringed  buckskin  shirt 
and  moccasins ;  but  before  she  could  utter  the  half-sarcastic 
comment  that  rose  to  her  lips  he  had  glided  noiselessly 
away,  even  as  an  Indian  might  have  done. 

She  readjusted  the  slips  of  hanging  bark  with  feminine 
ingenuity,  dispersing  them  so  as  to  completely  hide  the 
entrance.  Yet  this  did  not  darken  the  chamber,  which 
seemed  to  draw  a  purer  and  more  vigorous  light  through 
the  soaring  shaft  that  pierced  the  room  than  that  which 
came  from  the  dim  woodland  aisles  below.  Nevertheless, 
she  shivered,  and  drawing  her  shawl  closely  around  her 
began  to  collect  some  half-burnt  fragments  of  wood  in  the 
chimney  to  make  a  fire.  But  the  preoccupation  of  her 
thoughts  rendered  this  a  tedious  process,  as  she  would 
from  time  to  time  stop  in  the  middle  of  an  action  and  fall 
into  an  attitude  of  rapt  abstraction,  with  far-off  eyes  and 
rigid  mouth.  When  she  had  at  last  succeeded  in  kindling 
a  fire  and  raising  a  film  of  pale  blue  smoke,  that  seemed  to 
fade  and  dissipate  entirely  before  it  reached  the  top  of  the 
chimney  shaft,  she  crouched  beside  it,  fixed  her  eyes  on  the 
darkest  corner  of  the  cavern,  and  became  motionless. 

What  did  she  see  through  that  shadow  ? 

Nothing  at  first  but  a  confused  medley  of  figures  and 
incidents  of  the  preceding  night ;  things  to  be  put  away 
and  forgotten ;  things  that  would  not  have  happened  but 
for  another  thing  —  the  thing  before  which  everything 
faded  !  A  ball-room ;  the  sounds  of  music  ;  the  one  man 
she  had  cared  for  insulting  her  with  the  flaunting  osten- 
tation of  his  unfaithfulness ;  herself  despised,  put  aside, 
laughed  at,  or  worse,  jilted.  And  then  the  moment  of 
delirium,  when  the  light  danced  ;  the  one  wild  act  that 
lifted  her,  the  despised  one,  above  them  all  —  made  her 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  13 

the  supreme  figure,  to  be  glanced  at  by  frightened  women, 
stared  at  by  half-startled,  half-admiring  men  !  "  Yes,"  she 
laughed  ;  but  struck  by  the  sound  of  her  own  voice,  moved 
twice  round  the  cavern  nervously,  and  then  dropped  again 
into  her  old  position. 

As  they  carried  him  away  he  had  laughed  at  her  — 
like  a  hound  that  he  was ;  he  who  had  praised  her  for 
her  spirit,  and  incited  her  revenge  against  others ;  he 
who  had  taught  her  to  strike  when  she  was  insulted  j 
and  it  was  only  fit  he  should  reap  what  he  had  sown. 
She  was  what  he,  what  other  men,  had  made  her.  And 
what  was  she  now  ?  What  had  she  been  once  ? 

She  tried  to  recall  her  childhood :  the  man  and  woman 
who  might  have  been  her  father  and  mother  ;  who  fought 
and  wrangled  over  her  precocious  little  life  ;  abused  or 
caressed  her  as  she  sided  with  either ;  and  then  left  her 
with  a  circus  troupe,  where  she  first  tasted  the  power  of 
her  courage,  her  beauty,  and  her  recklessness.  She  re- 
membered those  flashes  of  triumph  that  left  a  fever  in  her 
veins  —  a  fever  that  when  it  failed  must  be  stimulated  by 
dissipation,  by  anything,  by  everything  that  would  keep 
her  name  a  wonder  in  men's  mouths,  an  envious  fear  to 
women.  She  recalled  her  transfer  to  the  strolling  play- 
ers ;  her  cheap  pleasures,  and  cheaper  rivalries  and  hatred 

—  but   always    Teresa  !    the    daring  Teresa !    the  reckless 
Teresa !  audacious  as  a  woman,  invincible  as  a  boy ;  dan- 
cing, flirting,  fencing,  shooting,  swearing,  drinking,  smoking, 
fighting  Teresa  !      "  Oh,  yes  ;  she  had  been  loved,  perhaps 

—  who  knows  ?  —  but  always  feared.     Why   should  she 
change  now  ?     Ha !  he  should  see." 

She  had  lashed  herself  in  a  frenzy,  as  was  her  wont, 
with  gestures,  ejaculations,  oaths,  adjurations,  and  pas- 
sionate apostrophes,  but  with  this  strange  and  unexpected 
result.  Heretofore  she  had  always  been  sustained  and 
kept  up  by  an  audience  of  some  kind  or  quality,  if  only 


14  IN  THE'CARQUINEZ   WOODS 

perhaps  a  humble  companion ;  there  had  always  heen 
some  one  she  could  fascinate  or  horrify,  and  she  could 
read  her  power  mirrored  in  their  eyes.  Even  the  half- 
abstracted  indifference  of  her  strange  host  had  been  something. 
But  she  was  alone  now.  Her  words  fell  on  apathetic  soli- 
tude ;  she  was  acting  to  viewless  space.  She  rushed  to  the 
opening,  dashed  the  hanging  bark  aside,  and  leaped  to  the 
ground. 

She  ran  forward  wildly  a  few  steps,  and  stopped. 

"  Hallo  !  "  she  cried.     "  Look,  't  is  I,  Teresa !  " 

The  profound  silence  remained  unbroken.  Her  shrill- 
est tones  were  lost  in  an  echoless  space,  even  as  the 
smoke  of  her  fire  had  faded  into  pure  ether.  She  stretched 
out  her  clenched  fists  as  if  to  defy  the  pillared  austerities 
of  the  vaults  around  her. 

"  Come  and  take  me  if  you  dare  !  " 

The  challenge  was  unheeded.  If  she  had  thrown  her- 
self violently  against  the  nearest  tree-trunk,  she  could  not 
have  been  stricken  more  breathless  than  she  was  by  the 
compact,  embattled  solitude  that  encompassed  her.  The 
hopelessness  of  impressing  these  cold  and  passive  vaults 
with  her  selfish  passion  filled  her  with  a  vague  fear.  In 
her  rage  of  the  previous  night  she  had  not  seen  the  wood 
in  its  profound  immobility.  Left  alone  with  the  majesty 
of  those  enormous  columns,  she  trembled  and  turned 
faint.  The  silence  of  the  hollow  tree  she  had  just  quitted 
seemed  to  her  less  awful  than  the  crushing  presence  of 
these  mute  and  monstrous  witnesses  of  her  weakness. 
Like  a  wounded  quail,  with  lowered  crest  and  trailing  wing, 
she  crept  back  to  her  hiding-place. 

Even  then  the  influence  of  the  wood  was  still  upon  her. 
She  picked  up  the  novel  she  had  contemptuously  thrown 
aside,  only  to  let  it  fall  again  in  utter  weariness.  For  a 
moment  her  feminine  curiosity  was  excited  by  the  discov- 
ery of  an  old  book,  in  whose  blank  leaves  were  pressed  a 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  15 

variety  of  flowers  and  woodland  grasses.  As  she  could 
not  conceive  that  these  had  been  kept  for  any  but  a  senti- 
mental purpose,  she  was  disappointed  to  find  that  under- 
neath each  was  a  sentence  in  an  unknown  tongue,  that 
even  to  her  untutored  eye  did  not  appear  to  be  the  lan- 
guage of  passion.  Fnally  she  rearranged  the  couch  of 
skins  and  blankets,  and,  imparting  to  it  in  three  clever 
shakes  an  entirely  different  character,  lay  down  to  pursue 
her  reveries.  But  nature  asserted  herself,  and  ere  she 
knew  it  she  was  fast  asleep. 

So  intense  and  prolonged  had  been  her  previous  excite- 
ment that,  the  tension  once  relieved,  she  passed  into  a 
slumber  of  exhaustion  so  deep  that  she  seemed  scarce  to 
breathe.  High  noon  succeeded  morning,  the  central  shaft 
received  a  single  ray  of  upper  sunlight,  the  afternoon  came 
and  went,  the  shadows  gathered  below,  the  sunset  fires 
began  to  eat  their  way  through  the  groined  roof,  and  she 
still  slept.  She  slept  even  when  the  bark  hangings  of  the 
chamber  were  put  aside,  and  the  young  man  reentered. 

He  laid  down  a  bundle  he  was  carrying,  and  softly  ap- 
proached the  sleeper.  For  a  moment  he  was  startled  from 
his  indifference  —  she  lay  so  still  and  motionless.  But  this 
was  not  all  that  struck  him :  the  face  before  him  was  no 
longer  the  passionate,  haggard  visage  that  confronted  him 
that  morning ;  the  feverish  air,  the  burning  color,  the 
strained  muscles  of  mouth  and  brow,  and  the  staring  eyes 
were  gone ;  wiped  away,  perhaps,  by  the  tears  that  still 
left  their  traces  on  cheek  and  dark  eyelash.  It  was  a  face 
of  a  handsome  woman  of  thirty,  with  even  a  suggestion  of 
softness  in  the  contour  of  the  cheek  and  arching  of  her 
upper  lip,  no  longer  rigidly  drawn  down  in  anger,  but  re- 
laxed by  sleep  on  her  white  teeth. 

With  the  lithe,  soft  tread  that  was  habitual  to  him,  the 
young  man  moved  about,  examining  the  condition  of  the 
little  chamber  and  its  stock  of  provisions  and  necessaries, 


16  IN  THE   CAEQUINEZ  WOODS 

and  withdrew  presently,  to  reappear  as  noiselessly  with  a 
tin  bucket  of  water.  This  done  he  replenished  the  little 
pile  of  fuel  with  an  armful  of  hark  and  pine  cones,  cast  an 
approving  glance  ahout  him,  which  included  the  sleeper, 
and  silently  departed. 

It  was  night  when  she  awoke.  She  was  surrounded  by 
a  profound  darkness,  except  where  the  shaft-like  opening 
made  a  nebulous  mist  in  the  corner  in  her  wooden  cavern. 
Providentially  she  struggled  back  to  consciousness  slowly,  so 
that  the  solitude  and  silence  came  upon  her  gradually,  with 
a  growing  realization  of  the  events  of  the  past  twenty-four 
hours,  but  without  a  shock.  She  was  alone  here,  but  safe 
still,  and  every  hour  added  to  her  chances  of  ultimate  escape. 
She  remembered  to  have  seen  a  candle  among  the  articles 
on  the  shelf,  and  she  began  to  grope  her  way  toward  the 
matches.  Suddenly  she  stopped.  What  was  that  panting  ? 

Was  it  her  own  breathing,  quickened  with  a  sudden 
nameless  terror  ?  or  was  there  something  outside  ?  Her 
heart  seemed  to  stop  beating  while  she  listened.  Yes  !  it 
was  a  panting  outside  —  a  panting  now  increased,  multi- 
plied, redoubled,  mixed  with  the  sounds  of  rustling,  tear- 
ing, craunching,  and  occasionally  a  quick,  impatient  snarl. 
She  crept  on  her  hands  and  knees  to  the  opening  and  looked 
out.  At  first  the  ground  seemed  to  be  undulating  between 
her  and  the  opposite  tree.  But  a  second  glance  showed 
her  the  black  and  gray,  bristling,  tossing  backs  of  tumbling 
beasts  of  prey,  charging  the  carcass  of  the  bear  that  lay  at 
its  roots,  or  contesting  f®r  the  prize  with  gluttonous 
choked  breath,  sidelong  snarls,  arched  spines,  and  recurved 
tails.  One  of  the  boldest  had  leaped  upon  a  buttressing 
root  of  her  tree  within  a  foot  of  the  opening.  The  excite- 
ment, awe,  and  terror  she  had  undergone  culminated  in  one 
wild,  maddened  scream,  that  seemed  to  pierce  even  the  cold 
depths  of  the  forest,  as  she  dropped  on  her  face,  with  her 
hands  clasped  over  her  eyes  in  an  agony  of  fear. 


IN   THE   CAEQUINEZ  WOODS  17 

Her  scream  was  answered,  after  a  pause,  by  a  sudden 
volley  of  firebrands  and  sparks  into  the  midst  of  the  pant- 
ing, crowding  pack  ;  a  few  smothered  howls  and  snaps, 
and  a  sudden  dispersion  of  the  concourse.  In  another 
moment  the  young  man,  with  a  blazing  brand  in  either 
hand,  leaped  upon  the  body  of  the  bear. 

Teresa  raised  her  head,  uttered  a  hysterical  cry,  slid 
down  the  tree,  flew  wildly  to  his  side,  caught  convulsively 
at  his  sleeve,  and  fell  on  her  knees  beside  him. 

"  Save  me  !  save  me  !  "  she  gasped,  in  a  voice  broken 
by  terror.  "  Save  me  from  those  hideous  creatures.  No, 
no  !  "  she  implored,  as  he  endeavored  to  lift  her  to  her 
feet.  "No  —  let  me  stay  here  close  beside  you.  So," 
clutching  the  fringe  of  his  leather  hunting-shirt,  and  drag- 
ging herself  on  her  knees  nearer  him  —  "  so  —  don't  leave 
me,  for  God's  sake  !  " 

"  They  are  gone,"  he  replied,  gazing  down  curiously  at 
her,  as  she  wound  the  fringe  around  her  hand  to  strengthen 
her  hold ;  "  they  're  only  a  lot  of  cowardly  coyotes  and 
wolves,  that  dare  not  attack  anything  that  lives  and  can 
move." 

The  young  woman  responded  with  a  nervous  shudder. 
"  Yes,  that 's  it,"  she  whispered,  in  a  broken  voice  ;  "  it  'a 
only  the  dead  they  want.  Promise  me  —  swear  to  me,  if 
I  'm  caught,  or  hung,  or  shot,  you  won't  let  me  be  left 
here  to  be  torn  and  —  ah  !  my  God  !  what 's  that  ?  " 

She  had  thrown  her  arms  around  his  knees,  completely 
pinioning  him  to  her  frantic  breast.  Something  like  a 
smile  of  disdain  passed  across  his  face  as  he  answered, 
"  It 's  nothing.  They  will  not  return.  Get  up  !  " 

Even  in  her  terror  she  saw  the  change  in  his  face.  "  I 
know,  I  know  ! "  she  cried.  "  I  'm  frightened  —  but  I 
cannot  bear  it  any  longer.  Hear  me !  Listen !  Listen 
—  but  don't  move  !  I  did  n't  mean  to  kill  Curson  —  no  ! 
I  swear  to  God,  no  !  I  did  n't  mean  to  kill  the  sheriff  — 


18  IN   THE   CAEQUINEZ   WOODS 

and  I  didn't.  I  was  only  bragging  —  do  you  hear?  I 
lied !  I  lied  —  don't  move,  I  swear  to  God  I  lied.  I  've 
made  myself  out  worse  than  I  was.  I  have.  Only  don't 
leave  me  now  —  and  if  I  die  —  and  it 's  not  far  off,  may- 
be —  get  me  away  from  here  —  and  from  them.  Swear 
it!" 

"All  right,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a  scarcely  con- 
cealed movement  of  irritation.  "  But  get  up  now,  and  go 
back  to  the  cabin." 

"  No  ;  not  there  alone."  Nevertheless,  he  quietly  but 
firmly  released  himself. 

"  I  will  stay  here,"  he  replied.  "  I  would  have  been 
nearer  to  you,  but  I  thought  it  better  for  your  safety  that 
my  camp-fire  should  be  further  off.  But  I  can  build  it 
here,  and  that  will  keep  the  coyotes  off." 

"Let  me  stay  with  you  —  beside  you,"  she  said  im- 
ploringly. 

She  looked  so  broken,  crushed,  and  spiritless,  so  unlike 
the  woman  of  the  morning  that,  albeit  with  an  ill  grace, 
he  tacitly  consented,  and  turned  away  to  bring  his  blan- 
kets. But  in  the  next  moment  she  was  at  his  side,  follow- 
ing him  like  a  dog,  silent  and  wistful,  and  even  offering 
to  carry  his  burden.  When  he  had  built  the  fire,  for 
which  she  had  collected  the  pine  cones  and  broken  branches 
near  them,  he  sat  down,  folded  his  arms,  and  leaned  back 
against  the  tree  in  reserved  and  deliberate  silence.  Hum- 
ble and  submissive,  she  did  not  attempt  to  break  in  upon 
a  reverie  she  could  not  help  but  feel  had  little  kindliness 
to  herself.  As  the  fire  snapped  and  sparkled,  she  pil- 
lowed her  head  upon  a  root,  and  lay  still  to  watch  it. 

It  rose  and  fell,  and  dying  away  at  times  to  a  mere  lurid 
glow  ;  and  again,  agitated  by  some  breath  scarcely  perceptible 
to  them,  quickening  into  a  roaring  flame.  When  only  the 
embers  remained,  a  dead  silence  filled  the  wood.  Then  the 
first  breath  of  morning  moved  the  tangled  canopy  above, 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  19 

and  a  dozen  tiny  sprays  and  needles  detached  from  the 
interlocked  boughs  winged  their  soft  way  noiselessly  to  the 
earth.  A  few  fell  upon  the  prostrate  woman  like  a  gentle 
benediction,  and  she  slept.  But  even  then,  the  young  man, 
looking  down,  saw  that  the  slender  ringers  were  still  aim- 
lessly but  rigidly  twisted  in  the  leather  fringe  of  his  hunting- 
shirt. 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  was  a  peculiarity  of  the  Carquinez  Woods  that  it  stood 
apart  and  distinct  in  its  gigantic  individuality.  Even  where 
the  integrity  of  its  own  singular  species  was  not  entirely 
preserved,  it  admitted  no  inferior  trees.  Nor  was  there  any 
diminishing  fringe  on  its  outskirts ;  the  sentinels  that  guarded 
the  few  gateways  of  the  dim  trails  were  as  monstrous  as  the 
serried  ranks  drawn  up  in  the  heart  of  the  forest.  Conse- 
quently, the  red  highway  that  skirted  the  eastern  angle  was 
bare  and  shadeless,  until  it  slipped  a  league  off  into  a  watered 
valley  and  refreshed  itself  under  lesser  sycamores  and 
willows.  It  was  here  the  newly  born  city  of  Excelsior,  still 
in  its  cradle,  had,  like  an  infant  Hercules,  strangled  the 
serpentine  North  Fork  of  the  American  river,  and  turned  its 
life-current  into  the  ditches  and  flumes  of  the  Excelsior 
miners. 

Newest  of  the  new  houses  that  seemed  to  have  acciden- 
tally formed  its  single,  straggling  street  was  the  residence 
of  the  Rev.  Winslow  Wynn,  not  unfrequently  known  as 
"  Father  Wynn,"  pastor  of  the  first  Baptist  church.  The 
t(  pastorage,"  as  it  was  cheerfully  called,  had  the  glaring 
distinction  of  being  built  of  brick,  and  was,  as  had  been 
wickedly  pointed  out  by  idle  scoffers,  the  only  "fire- 
proof "  structure  in  town.  This  sarcasm  was  not,  however, 
supposed  to  be  particularly  distasteful  to  "  Father  Wynn," 
who  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  "hail  fellow,  well 
met "  with  the  rough  mining  element,  who  called  them  by 
their  Christian  names,  had  been  known  to  drink  at  the  bar 
of  the  Polka  Saloon  while  engaged  in  the  conversion  of  a 


IN   THE   CAEQUINEZ   WOODS  21 

prominent  citizen,  and  was  popularly  said  to  have  no 
"  gospel  starch "  about  him.  Certain  conscious  outcasts 
and  transgressors  were  touched  at  this  apparent  unbend- 
ing of  the  spiritual  authority.  The  rigid  tenets  of  Father 
Wynn's  faith  were  lost  in  the  supposed  catholicity  of  his 
humanity.  "  A  preacher  that  can  jine  a  man  when  he  's 
histin'  liquor  into  him,  without  jawin'  about  it,  ought  to  be 
allowed  to  wrestle  with  sinners  and  splash  about  in  as 
much  cold  water  as  he  likes,"  was  the  criticism  of  one  of 
his  converts.  Nevertheless,  it  was  true  that  Father  Wynn 
was  somewhat  loud  and  intolerant  in  his  tolerance.  It  was 
true  that  he  was  a  little  more  rough,  a  little  more  frank,  a 
little  more  hearty,  a  little  more  impulsive,  than  his  disciples. 
It  was  true  that  often  the  proclamation  of  his  extreme  liber- 
ality and  brotherly  equality  partook  somewhat  of  an  apology. 
It  is  true  that  a  few  who  might  have  been  most  benefited 
by  this  kind  of  gospel  regarded  him  with  a  singular  disdain. 
It  is  true  that  his  liberality  was  of  an  ornamental,  insinuat- 
ing quality,  accompanied  with  but  little  sacrifice  ;  his  ac- 
ceptance of  a  collection  taken  up  in  a  gambling-saloon  for 
the  rebuilding  of  his  church,  destroyed  by  fire,  gave  him  a 
popularity  large  enough,  it  must  be  confessed,  to  cover  the 
sins  of  the  gamblers  themselves,  but  it  was  not  proven  that 
he  had  ever  organized  any  form  of  relief.  But  it  was  true 
that  local  history  somehow  accepted  him  as  an  exponent  of 
mining  Christianity,  without  the  least  reference  to  the 
opinions  of  the  Christian  miners  themselves. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Wynn's  liberal  habits  and  opinions  were 
not,  however,  shared  by  his  only  daughter,  a  motherless 
young  lady  of  eighteen.  Nellie  Wynn  was  in  the  eye  of 
Excelsior  an  unapproachable  divinity,  as  inaccessible  and 
cold  as  her  father  was  impulsive  and  familiar.  An  atmos- 
phere of  chaste  and  proud  virginity  made  itself  felt  even 
in  the  starched  integrity  of  her  spotless  skirts,  in  her 
neatly  gloved  finger-tips,  in  her  clear  amber  eyes,  in  her 


22  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS 

imperious  red  lips,  in  her  sensitive  nostrils.  Need  it  be 
said  that  the  youth  and  middle  age  of  Excelsior  were 
madly,  because  apparently  hopelessly,  in  love  with  her  ? 
For  the  rest,  she  had  been  expensively  educated,  was  pro- 
foundly ignorant  in  two  languages,  with  a  trained  misun- 
derstanding of  music  and  painting,  and  a  natural  and  fault- 
less taste  in  dress. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Wynn  was  engaged  in  a  characteristic 
hearty  parting  with  one  of  his  latest  converts  upon  his 
own  doorstep,  with  admirable  al  fresco  effect.  He  had 
just  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  "  Good-by,  good-by, 
Charley,  my  boy,  and  keep  in  the  right  path ;  not  up,  or 
down,  or  round  the  gulch,  you  know  —  ha,  ha  !  —  but 
straight  across  lots  to  the  shining  gate."  He  had  raised 
his  voice  under  the  stimulus  of  a  few  admiring  spectators, 
and  backed  his  convert  playfully  against  the  wall.  "  You 
see  !  we  're  goin'  in  to  win,  you  bet.  Good-by  !  I'd  ask 
you  to  step  in  and  have  a  chat,  but  I  've  got  my  work  to 
do,  and  so  have  you.  The  gospel  mustn't  keep  us  from 
that,  must  it,  Charley  ?  Ha,  ha  !  " 

The  convert  (who  elsewhere  was  a  profane  expressman, 
and  had  become  quite  imbecile  under  Mr.  Wynn's  active 
heartiness  and  brotherly  horse-play  before  spectators) 
managed,  however,  to  feebly  stammer  with  a  blush  some- 
thing about  "  Miss  Nellie." 

"  Ah,  Nellie.  She,  too,  is  at  her  tasks  —  trimming  her 
lamp  —  you  know,  the  parable  of  the  wise  virgins,"  con- 
tinued Father  Wynn  hastily,  fearing  that  the  convert 
might  take  the  illustration  literally.  "There,  there  — 
good-by.  Keep  in  the  right  path."  And  with  a  parting 
shove  he  dismissed  Charley,  and  entered  his  own  house. 

That  "  wise  virgin,"  Nellie,  had  evidently  finished  with 
the  lamp,  and  was  now  going  out  to  meet  the  bridegroom, 
as  she  was  fully  dressed  and  gloved,  and  had  a  pink  par- 
asol in  her  hand,  as  her  father  entered  the  sitting-room. 


IN   THE   CAEQUINEZ  WOODS  23 

His  bluff  heartiness  seemed  to  fade  away  as  he  removed 
his  soft,  broad-brimmed  hat  and  glanced  across  the  too 
fresh-looking  apartment.  There  was  a  smell  of  mortar 
still  in  the  air,  and  a  faint  suggestion  that  at  any  moment 
green  grass  might  appear  between  the  interstices  of  the  red- 
brick hearth.  The  room,  yielding  a  little  in  the  point  of 
coldness,  seemed  to  share  Miss  Nellie's  fresh  virginity,  and, 
barring  the  pink  parasol,  set  her  off  as  in  a  vestal's  cell. 

"  I  supposed  you  would  n't  care  to  see  Brace,  the  ex- 
pressman, so  I  got  rid  of  him  at  the  door,"  said  her  father, 
drawing  one  of  the  new  chairs  towards  him  slowly,  and 
sitting  down  carefully,  as  if  it  were  a  hitherto  untried  ex- 
periment. 

Miss  Nellie's  face  took  a  tint  of  interest.  "  Then  he 
does  n't  go  with  the  coach  to  Indian  Spring  to-day  ?  " 

"No;  why?" 

"  I  thought  of  going  over  myself  to  get  the  Burnham 
girls  to  come  to  choir-meeting,"  replied  Miss  Nellie  care- 
lessly, "  and  he  might  have  been  company." 

"  He  'd  go  now  if  he  knew  you  were  going,"  said  her 
father  ;  "  but  it 's  just  as  well  he  should  n't  be  needlessly 
encouraged.  I  rather  think  that  Sheriff, Dunn  is  a  little 
jealous  of  him.  By  the  way,  the  sheriff  is  much  better. 
I  called  to  cheer  him  up  to-day  "  (Mr.  Wynn  had  in  fact 
tumultuously  accelerated  the  sick  man's  pulse),  "  and  he 
talked  of  you,  as  usual.  In  fact,  he  said  he  had  only  two 
things  to  get  well  for.  One  was  to  catch  and  hang  that 
woman  Teresa,  who  shot  him  ;  the  other  —  can't  you  guess 
the  other  ? "  he  added  archly,  with  a  faint  suggestion  of 
his  other  manner. 

Miss  Nellie  coldly  could  not. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Wynn's  archness  vanished.  "  Don't  be 
a  fool,"  he  said  dryly.  "  He  wants  to  marry  you,  and  you 
know  it." 

"  Most  of  the  men  here  do,"  responded  Miss  Nellie,  with- 


24  IN   THE   CAEQUINEZ  WOODS 

out  the  least  trace  of  coquetry.  "  Is  the  wedding  or  the 
hanging  to  take  place  first,  or  together,  so  he  can  offici- 
ate at  both  ?  " 

"  His  share  in  the  Union  Ditch  is  worth  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars,"  continued  her  father ;  "  and  if  he  is  n't 
nominated  for  district  judge  this  fall,  he  's  bound  to  go  to 
the  legislature,  anyway.  I  don't  think  a  girl  with  your 
advantages  and  education  can  afford  to  throw  away  the 
chance  of  shining  in  Sacramento,  San  Francisco,  or,  in  good 
time,  perhaps  even  Washington." 

Miss  Nellie's  eyes  did  not  reflect  entire  disapproval  of 
this  suggestion,  although  she  replied  with  something  of  her 
father's  practical  quality. 

"Mr.  Dunn  is  not  out  of  his  bed  yet,  and  they  say 
Teresa 's  got  away  to  Arizona,  so  there  is  n't  any  particular 
hurry." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  see  here,  Nellie,  I  've  some  impor- 
tant news  for  you.  You  know  your  young  friend  of  the 
Carquinez  Woods  —  Dorman,  the  botanist,  eh  ?  Well, 
Brace  knows  all  about  him.  And  what  do  you  think  he 
is?" 

Miss  Nellie  took  upon  herself  a  few  extra  degrees  of 
cold,  and  did  n't  know. 

"  An  Injin  !  Yes,  an  out-and-out  Cherokee.  You  see 
he  calls  himself  Dorman  —  Low  Dorman.  That 's  only 
French  for  '  Sleeping  Water,'  his  Injin  name  —  '  Low  Dor- 
man.'  " 

"  You  mean  <  L'Eau  Dormante,'  "  said  Nellie. 

"  That 's  what  I  said.  The  chief  called  him  '  Sleeping 
Water '  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  one  of  them  French 
Canadian  trappers  translated  it  into  French  when  he 
brought  him  to  California  to  school.  But  he 's  an  Injin, 
sure.  No  wonder  he  prefers  to  live  in  the  woods." 

«  Well  ?  »  said  Nellie. 

"  Well,"  echoed  her  father  impatiently,  "  he  's  an  Injin, 


IN   THE   CAKQUINEZ   WOODS  25 

I  tell  you,  and  you  can't  of  course  have  anything  to  do 
with  him.  He  mustn't  come  here  again." 

"  But  you  forget,"  said  Nellie  imperturbably,  "  that  it 
was  you  who  invited  him  here,  and  were  so  much  exer- 
cised over  him.  You  remember  you  introduced  him  to 
the  bishop  and  those  Eastern  clergymen  as  a  magnificent 
specimen  of  a  young  Californian.  You  forget  what  an  oc- 
casion you  made  of  his  coming  to  church  on  Sunday,  and 
how  you  made  him  come  in  his  buckskin  shirt  and  walk 
down  the  street  with  you  after  service !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wynn  hurriedly. 

"And,"  continued  Nellie  carelessly,  "how  you  made 
us  sing  out  of  the  same  book  '  Children  of  our  Father's 
Fold,'  and  how  you  preached  at  him  until  he  actually  got 
a  color !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  her  father  ;  "  but  it  was  n't  known  then  he 
was  an  Injin,  and  they  are  frightfully  unpopular  with  those 
Southwestern  men  among  whom  we  labor.  Indeed,  I  am 
quite  convinced  that  when  Brace  said  '  the  only  good 
Indian  was  a  dead  one  '  his  expression,  though  extravagant, 
perhaps,  really  voiced  the  sentiments  of  the  majority.  It 
would  be  only  kindness  to  the  unfortunate  creature  to 
warn  him  from  exposing  himself  to  their  rude  but  consci- 
entious antagonism." 

"  Perhaps  you  'd  better  tell  him,  then,  in  your  own 
popular  way,  which  they  all  seem  to  understand  so  well," 
responded  the  daughter.  Mr.  Wynn  cast  a  quick  glance 
at  her,  but  there  was  no  trace  of  irony  in  her  face  —  no- 
thing but  a  half-bored  indifference  as  she  walked  toward  the 
window. 

"  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  coach-office,"  said  her  father, 
who  generally  gave  these  simple  paternal  duties  the  pro- 
nounced character  of  a  public  Christian  example. 

"  It 's  hardly  worth  while,"  replied  Miss  Nellie.  "  I  've 
to  stop  at  the  Watsons',  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  ask 


26  IN   THE   CAKQUINEZ  WOODS 

after  the  baby  ;  so  I  shall  go  on  to  the  Crossing  and  pick 
up  the  coach  as  it  passes.     Good-by." 

Nevertheless,  as  soon  as  Nellie  had  departed,  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Wynn  proceeded  to  the  coach-office,  and  publicly 
grasping  the  hand  of  Yuba  Bill,  the  driver,  commended 
his  daughter  to  his  care  in  the  name  of  the  universal 
brotherhood  of  man  and  the  Christian  fraternity.  Carried 
away  by  his  heartiness,  he  forgot  his  previous  caution,  and 
confided  to  the  expressman  Miss  Nellie's  regrets  that  she 
was  not  to  have  that  gentleman's  company.  The  result 
was  that  Miss  Nellie  found  the  coach  with  its  passengers 
awaiting  her  with  uplifted  hats  and  wreathed  smiles  at  the 
Crossing,  and  the  box-seat  (from  which  an  unfortunate 
stranger,  who  had  expensively  paid  for  it,  had  been  sum- 
marily ejected)  at  her  service,  beside  Yuba  Bill,  who  had 
thrown  away  his  cigar  and  donned  a  new  pair  of  buckskin 
gloves  to  do  her  honor.  But  a  more  serious  result  to  the 
young  beauty  was  the  effect  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wynn's  con- 
fidences upon  the  impulsive  heart  of  Jack  Brace,  the  ex- 
pressman. It  has  been  already  intimated  that  it  was  his 
"  day  off."  Unable  to  summarily  reassume  his  usual  func- 
tions beside  the  driver  without  some  practical  reason,  and 
ashamed  to  go  so  palpably  as  a  mere  passenger,  he  was 
forced  to  let  the  coach  proceed  without  him.  Discomfited 
for  the  moment,  he  was  not,  however,  beaten.  He  had 
lost  the  blissful  journey  by  her  side,  which  would  have 
been  his  professional  right,  but  —  she  was  going  to  Indian 
Spring  !  could  he  not  anticipate  her  there  ?  Might  they 
not  meet  in  the  most  accidental  manner  ?  And  what 
might  not  come  from  that  meeting  away  from  the  prying 
eyes  of  their  own  town  ?  Mr.  Brace  did  not  hesitate,  but 
saddling  his  fleet  Buckskin,  by  the  time  the  stage-coach 
had  passed  the  Crossing  in  the  highroad  he  had  mounted 
the  hill  and  was  dashing  along  the  "  cut-off "  in  the  same 
direction,  a  full  mile  in  advance.  Arriving  at  Indian 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  27 

Spring,  he  left  his  horse  at  a  Mexican  posada  on  the  con- 
fines of  the  settlement,  and  from  the  piled  de'bris  of  a 
tunnel  excavation  awaited  the  slow  arrival  of  the  coach. 
On  mature  reflection  he  could  give  no  reason  why  he  had 
not  boldly  awaited  it  at  the  express-office,  except  a  certain 
bashful  consciousness  of  his  own  folly,  and  a  belief  that  it 
might  be  glaringly  apparent  to  the  bystanders.  When  the 
coach  arrived  and  he  had  overcome  this  consciousness,  it 
was  too  late.  Yuba  Bill  had  discharged  his  passengers  for 
Indian  Spring,  and  driven  away.  Miss  Nellie  was  in  the 
settlement,  but  where  ?  As  time  passed  he  became  more 
desperate  and  bolder.  He  walked  recklessly  up  and  down 
the  main  street,  glancing  in  at  the  open  doors  of  shops, 
and  even  in  the  windows  of  private  dwellings.  It  might 
have  seemed  a  poor  compliment  to  Miss  Nellie,  but  it  was 
an  evidence  of  his  complete  preoccupation,  when  the  sight 
of  a  female  face  at  a  window,  even  though  it  was  plain  or 
perhaps  painted,  caused  his  heart  to  bound,  or  the  glancing 
of  a  skirt  in  the  distance  quickened  his  feet  and  his  pulses. 
Had  Jack  contented  himself  with  remaining  at  Excelsior 
he  might  have  vaguely  regretted,  but  as  soon  become  as 
vaguely  accustomed  to,  Miss  Nellie's  absence.  But  it  was 
not  until  his  hitherto  quiet  and  passive  love  took  this  first 
step  of  action  that  it  fully  declared  itself.  When  he  had 
made  the  tour  of  the  town  a  dozen  times  unsuccessfully, 
he  had  perfectly  made  up  his  mind  that  marriage  with 
Nellie  or  the  speedy  death  of  several  people,  including 
possibly  himself,  was  the  only  alternative.  He  regretted 
he  had  not  accompanied  her ;  he  regretted  he  had  not 
demanded  where  she  was  going ;  he  contemplated  a  course 
of  future  action  that  two  hours  ago  would  have  filled  him 
with  bashful  terror.  There  was  clearly  but  one  thing  to 
do,  —  to  declare  his  passion  the  instant  he  met  her,  and 
return  with  her  to  Excelsior  an  accepted  suitor,  or  not  to 
return  at  all. 


28  IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

Suddenly  he  was  vexatiously  conscious  of  hearing  his 
name  lazily  called,  and  looking  up  found  that  he  was  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  and  interrogated  by  two  horse- 
men. 

"  Got  down  to  walk,  and  the  coach  got  away  from  you, 
Jack,  eh  ?  " 

A  little  ashamed  of  his  preoccupation,  Brace  stammered 
something  ahout  "  collections."  He  did  not  recognize  the 
men,  but  his  own  face,  name,  and  business  were  familiar  to 
everybody  for  fifty  miles  along  the  stage-road. 

"  Well,  you  can  settle  a  bet  for  us,  I  reckon.  Bill  Dacre 
thar  bet  me  five  dollars  and  the  drinks  that  a  young  gal  we 
met  at  the  edge  of  the  Carquinez  Woods,  dressed  in  a 
long  brown  duster  and  half-muffled  up  in  a  hood,  was  the 
daughter  of  Father  Wynn  of  Excelsior.  I  did  not  get  a 
fair  look  at  her,  but  it  stands  to  reason  that  a  high-toned 
young  lady  like  Nellie  Wynn  don't  go  trap'sing  along  the 
wood  like  a  Pike  County  tramp.  I  took  the  bet.  May  be 
you  know  if  she 's  here  or  in  Excelsior  ?  " 

Mr.  Brace  felt  himself  turning  pale  with  eagerness  and 
excitement.  But  the  near  prospect  of  seeing  her  presently 
gave  him  back  his  caution,  and  he  answered  truthfully  that 
he  had  left  her  in  Excelsior,  and  that  in  his  two  hours' 
sojourn  in  Indian  Spring  he  had  not  once  met  her. 
"  But,"  he  added,  with  a  Californian's  reverence  for  the 
sanctity  of  a  bet,  "  I  reckon  you  'd  better  make  it  a  stand- 
off for  twenty-four  hours,  and  I'll  find  out  and  let  you 
know  ;  "  which,  it  is  only  fair  to  say,  he  honestly  intended 
to  do. 

With  a  hurried  nod  of  parting,  he  continued  in  the 
direction  of  the  woods.  When  he  had  satisfied  himself 
that  the  strangers  had  entered  the  settlement  and  would 
not  follow  him  for  further  explanation,  he  quickened  his 
pace.  In  half  an  hour  he  passed  between  two  of  the 
gigantic  sentinels  that  guarded  the  entrance  to  a  trail. 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  29 

Here  he  paused  to  collect  his  thoughts.  The  woods  were 
vast  in  extent,  the  trail  dim  and  uncertain  —  at  times 
apparently  breaking  off,  or  intersecting  another  trail  as  faint 
as  itself.  Believing  that  Miss  Nellie  had  diverged  from  the 
highway  only  as  a  momentary  excursion  into  the  shade,  and 
that  she  would  not  dare  to  penetrate  its  more  sombre  and 
unknown  recesses,  he  kept  within  sight  of  the  skirting 
plain.  By  degrees  the  sedate  influence  of  the  silent  vaults 
seemed  to  depress  him.  The  ardor  of  the  chase  began  to 
flag.  Under  the  calm  of  their  dim  roof  the  fever  of  his 
veins  began  to  subside ;  his  pace  slackened ;  he  reasoned 
more  deliberately.  It  was  by  no  means  probable  that  the 
young  woman  in  a  brown  duster  was  Nellie  ;  it  was  not 
her  habitual  traveling-dress ;  it  was  not  like  her  to  walk 
unattended  in  the  road  ;  there  was  nothing  in  her  tastes 
and  habits  to  take  her  into  this  gloomy  forest,  allowing 
that  she  had  even  entered  it ;  and  on  this  absolute  ques- 
tion of  her  identity  the  two  witnesses  were  divided.  He 
stopped  irresolutely,  and  cast  a  last,  long,  half-despairing 
look  around  him.  Hitherto  he  had  given  that  part  of 
the  wood  nearest  the  plain  his  greatest  attention.  His 
glance  now  sought  its  darker  recesses.  Suddenly  he  be- 
came breathless.  Was  it  a  beam  of  sunlight  that  had 
pierced  the  groined  roof  above,  and  now  rested  against 
the  trunk  of  one  of  the  dimmer,  more  secluded  giants  ? 
No,  it  was  moving ;  even  as  he  gazed  it  slipped  away, 
glanced  against  another  tree,  passed  across  one  of  the 
vaulted  aisles,  and  then  was  lost  again.  Brief  as  was  the 
glimpse,  he  was  not  mistaken  —  it  was  the  figure  of  a 
woman. 

In  another  moment  he  was  on  her  track,  and  soon  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  reappear  at  a  lesser  distance. 
But  the  continual  intervention  of  the  massive  trunks  made 
the  chase  by  no  means  an  easy  one,  and  as  he  could  not 
keep  her  always  in  sight  he  was  unable  to  follow  or  under- 


80  IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

stand  the  one  intelligent  direction  which  she  seemed  to 
invariably  keep.  Nevertheless,  he  gained  upon  her  breath- 
lessly, and,  thanks  to  the  bark- strewn  floor,  noiselessly. 
He  was  near  enough  to  distinguish  and  recognize  the  dress 
she  wore,  a  pale  yellow,  that  he  had  admired  when  he  first 
saw  her.  It  was  Nellie,  unmistakably ;  if  it  were  she  of 
the  brown  duster,  she  had  discarded  it,  perhaps  for  greater 
freedom.  He  was  near  enough  to  call  out  now,  but  a  sud- 
den nervous  timidity  overcame  him  ;  his  lips  grew  dry. 
What  should  he  say  to  her  ?  How  account  for  his  pre- 
sence ?  "  Miss  Nellie,  one  moment !  "  he  gasped.  She 
darted  forward  and  —  vanished. 

At  this  moment  he  was  not  more  than  a  dozen  yards 
from  her.  He  rushed  to  where  she  had  been  standing,  but 
her  disappearance  was  perfect  and  complete.  He  made  a 
circuit  of  the  group  of  trees  within  whose  radius  she  had 
last  appeared,  but  there  was  neither  trace  of  her,  nor  sug- 
gestion of  her  mode  of  escape.  He  called  aloud  to  her ; 
the  vacant  woods  let  his  helpless  voice  die  in  their  unre- 
sponsive depths.  He  gazed  into  the  air  and  down  at  the 
bark-strewn  carpet  at  his  feet.  Like  most  of  his  vocation, 
he  was  sparing  of  speech,  and  epigrammatic  after  his  fashion. 
Comprehending  in  one  swift  but  despairing  flash  of  intel- 
ligence the  existence  of  some  fateful  power  beyond  his  own 
weak  endeavor,  he  accepted  its  logical  result  with  character- 
istic grimness,  threw  his  hat  upon  the  ground,  put  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  and  said,  — 

"Well,  I'm  d-d  1" 


CHAPTER  III 

OUT  of  compliment  to  Miss  Nellie  Wynn,  Yuba  Bill,  on 
reaching  Indian  Spring,  had  made  a  slight  de'tour  to  enable 
him  to  ostentatiously  set  down  his  fair  passenger  before  the 
door  of  the  Burnhams.  When  it  had  closed  on  the  admiring 
eyes  of  the  passengers  and  the  coach  had  rattled  away, 
Miss  Nellie,  without  any  undue  haste  or  apparent  change 
in  her  usual  quiet  demeanor,  managed,  however,  to  dispatch 
her  business  promptly,  and,  leaving  an  impression  that  she 
would  call  again  before  her  return  to  Excelsior,  parted  from 
her  friends,  and  slipped  away  through  a  side  street  to  the 
General  Furnishing  Store  of  Indian  Spring.  In  passing 
this  emporium,  Miss  Nellie's  quick  eye  had  discovered  a 
cheap  brown  linen  duster  hanging  in  its  window.  To  pur- 
chase it,  and  put  it  over  her  delicate  cambric  dress,  albeit 
with  a  shivering  sense  that  she  looked  like  a  badly  folded 
brown  paper  parcel,  did  not  take  long.  As  she  left  the  shop 
it  was  with  mixed  emotions  of  chagrin  and  security  that 
she  noticed  that  her  passage  through  the  settlement  no 
longer  turned  the  heads  of  its  male  inhabitants.  She 
reached  the  outskirts  of  Indian  Spring  and  the  highroad 
at  about  the  time  Mr.  Brace  had  begun  his  fruitless  patrol 
of  the  main  street.  Ear  in  the  distance  a  faint  olive-green 
table  mountain  seemed  to  rise  abruptly  from  the  plain. 
It  was  the  Carquinez  Woods.  Gathering  her  spotless  skirts 
beneath  her  extemporized  brown  domino,  she  set  out  briskly 
towards  them. 

But  her  progress  was  scarcely  free  or  exhilarating.  She 
was  not  accustomed  to  walking  in  a  country  where  "  buggy- 


32  IN  THE   CAEQUINEZ  WOODS 

riding"  was  considered  the  only  genteel  young-lady-like  mode 
of  progression,  and  its  regular  provision  the  expected  cour- 
tesy of  mankind.  Always  fastidiously  booted,  her  low- 
quartered  shoes  were  charming  to  the  eye,  but  hardly 
adapted  to  the  dust  and  inequalities  of  the  highroad.  It 
was  true  that  she  had  thought  of  buying  a  coarser  pair  at 
Indian  Spring,  but  once  face  to  face  with  their  uncompro- 
mising ugliness,  she  had  faltered  and  fled.  The  sun  was 
unmistakably  hot,  but  her  parasol  was  too  well  known  and 
offered  too  violent  a  contrast  to  the  duster  for  practical  use. 
Once  she  stopped  with  an  exclamation  of  annoyance,  hesitated, 
and  looked  back.  In  half  an  hour  she  had  twice  lost  her  shoe 
and  her  temper  ;  a  pink  flush  took  possession  of  her  cheeks, 
and  her  eyes  were  bright  with  suppressed  rage.  Dust 
began  to  form  grimy  circles  around  their  orbits  ;  with  cat-like 
shivers  she  even  felt  it  pervade  the  roots  of  her  blonde  hair. 
Gradually  her  breath  grew  more  rapid  and  hysterical,  hex- 
smarting  eyes  became  humid,  and  at  last,  encountering  two 
observant  horsemen  in  the  road,  she  turned  and  fled,  until, 
reaching  the  wood,  she  began  to  cry. 

Nevertheless  she  waited  for  the  two  horsemen  to  pass,  to 
satisfy  herself  that  she  was  not  followed  ;  then  pushed  on 
vaguely,  until  she  reached  a  fallen  tree,  where,  with  a 
gesture  of  disgust,  she  tore  off  her  hapless  duster  and  flung 
it  on.  the  ground.  She  then  sat  down  sobbing,  but  after  a 
moment  dried  her  eyes  hurriedly  and  started  to  her  feet. 
A  few  paces  distant,  erect,  noiseless,  with  outstretched  hand, 
the  young  solitary  of  the  Carquinez  Woods  advanced  towards 
her.  His  hand  had  almost  touched  hers,  when  he  stopped. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  he  asked  gravely. 

"Nothing,"  she  said,  turning  half  away,  and  searching 
the  ground  with  her  eyes  as  if  she  had  lost  something. 
•'  Only  I  must  be  going  back  now." 

(t  You  shall  go  back  at  once,  if  you  wish  it,"  he  said, 
flushing  slightly.  "  But  you  have  been  crying  ;  why  ?  " 


IN  THE   CAKQUINEZ  WOODS  33 

Prank  as  Miss  Nellie  wished  to  be,  she  could  not  bring 
herself  to  say  that  her  feet  hurt  her,  and  the  dust  and  heat 
were  ruining  her  complexion.  It  was  therefore  with  a  half- 
confident  belief  that  her  troubles  were  really  of  a  moral 
quality  that  she  answered,  "Nothing  —  nothing,  but  —  but 
—  it's  wrong  to  come  here." 

"  But  you  did  not  think  it  was  wrong  when  you  agreed 
to  come,  at  our  last  meeting,"  said  the  young  man,  with 
that  persistent  logic  which  exasperates  the  inconsequent 
feminine  mind.  "  It  cannot  be  any  more  wrong  to-day." 

"  But  it  was  not  so  far  off,"  murmured  the  young  girl, 
without  looking  up. 

"  Oh,  the  distance  makes  it  more  improper,  then,"  he 
said  abstractedly ;  but  after  a  moment's  contemplation  of 
her  half-averted  face,  he  asked  gravely,  "  Has  any  one 
talked  to  you  about  me  ?  " 

Ten  minutes  before,  Nellie  had.  been  burning  to  unbur- 
den herself  of  her  father's  warning,  but  now  she  felt  she 
would  not.  "I  wish  you  wouldn't  call  yourself  Low," 
she  said  at  last. 

"  But  it 's  my  name,"  he  replied  quietly. 

"  Nonsense  !  It 's  only  a  stupid  translation  of  a  stupid 
nickname.  They  might  as  well  call  you  '  Water '  at  once." 

"  But  you  said  you  liked  it." 

"  Well,  so  I  do.  But  don't  you  see  —  I  —  oh  dear  ! 
you  don't  understand." 

Low  did  not  reply,  but  turned  his  head  with  resigned 
gravity  towards  the  deeper  woods.  Grasping  the  barrel  of 
his  rifle  with  his  left  hand,  he  threw  his  right  arm  across 
his  left  wrist  and  leaned  slightly  upon  it  with  the  habitual 
ease  of  a  Western  hunter  —  doubly  picturesque  in  his  own 
lithe,  youthful  symmetry.  Miss  Nellie  looked  at  him  from 
under  her  eyelids,  and  then  half  defiantly  raised  her  head 
and  her  dark  lashes.  Gradually  an  almost  magical  change 
came  over  her  features  ;  her  eyes  grew  larger  and  more  and 


34  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

more  yearning,  until  they  seemed  to  draw  and  absorb  in 
their  liquid  depths  the  figure  of  the  young  man  before  her ; 
her  cold  face  broke  into  an  ecstasy  of  light  and  color;  her 
humid  lips  parted  in  a  bright,  welcoming  smile,  until,  with 
an  irresistible  impulse,  she  arose,  and  throwing  back  her 
head  stretched  towards  him  two  hands  full  of  vague  and 
trembling  passion. 

In  another  moment  he  had  seized  them,  kissed  them, 
and,  as  he  drew  her  closer  to  his  embrace,  felt  them  tighten 
around  his  neck.  "But  what  name  do  you  wish  to  call 
me  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  down  into  her  eyes. 

Miss  Nellie  murmured  something  confidentially  to  the 
third  button  of  his  hunting-shirt.  "  But  that,"  he  replied, 
with  a  faint  smile,  "  that  would  n't  be  any  more  practical, 
and  you  would  n't  want  others  to  call  me  dar —  "  Her 
fingers  loosened  around  his  neck,  she  drew  her  head  back, 
and  a  singular  expression  passed  over  her  face,  which  to 
any  calmer  observer  than  a  lover  would  have  seemed,  how- 
ever, to  indicate  more  curiosity  than  jealousy. 

"  Who  else  does  call  you  so  ? "  she  added  earnestly. 
"  How  many,  for  instance  ?  " 

Low's  reply  was  addressed  not  to  her  ear,  but  her  lips. 
She  did  not  avoid  it,  but  added,  "  And  do  you  kiss  them 
all  like  that  ?  "  Taking  him  by  the  shoulders,  she  held 
him  a  little  way  from  her,  and  gazed  at  him  from  head  to 
foot.  Then  drawing  him  again  to  her  embrace,  she  said,  "  I 
don't  care ;  at  least  no  woman  has  kissed  you  like  that." 
Happy,  dazzled,  and  embarrassed,  he  was  beginning  to 
stammer  the  truthful  protestation  that  rose  to  his  lips,  but 
she  stopped  him  :  "  No,  don't  protest !  say  nothing !  Let 
me  love  you  —  that  is  all.  It  is  enough."  He  would 
have  caught  her  in  his  arms  again,  but  she  drew  back. 
"  We  are  near  the  road,"  she  said  quietly.  "  Come  !  you 
promised  to  show  me  where  you  camped.  Let  us  make  the 
most  of  our  holiday.  In  an  hour  I  must  leave  the  woods." 


IN   THE   CAEQUINEZ  WOODS  35 

"  But  I  shall  accompany  you,  dearest." 

"  No,  I  must  go  as  I  came  —  alone." 

"  But  Nellie  "  — 

"I  tell  you  no,"  she  said,  with  an  almost  harsh  prac- 
tical decision,  incompatible  with  her  previous  abandonment. 
"  We  might  be  seen  together." 

"  Well,  suppose  we  are ;  we  must  be  seen  together 
eventually,"  he  remonstrated. 

,  The  young  girl  made  an  involuntary  gesture  of  impa- 
tient negation,  but  checked  herself.  "  Don't  let  us  talk  of 
that  now.  Come,  while  I  am  here  under  your  own  roof  " 

—  she  pointed  to  the  high  interlaced  boughs  above  them  — 
"  you  must  be  hospitable.     Show  me  your  home  ;  tell  me, 
is  n't  it  a  little  gloomy  sometimes  ?  " 

"  It  never  has  been  ;  I  never  thought  it  would  be  until 
the  moment  you  leave  it  to-day." 

She  pressed  his  hand  briefly  and  in  a  half-perfunctory 
way,  as  if  her  vanity  had  accepted  and  dismissed  the  com- 
pliment. "  Take  me  somewhere,"  she  said  inquisitively, 
"  where  you  stay  most ;  I  do  not  seem  to  see  you  here" 
she  added,  looking  around  her  with  a  slight  shiver.  "  It 
is  so  big  and  so  high.  Have  you  no  place  where  you  eat 
and  rest  and  sleep  ?  " 

''Except  in  the  rainy  season,  I  camp  all  over  the  place 

—  at  any  spot  where  I  may  have  been  shooting  or  collect- 
ing." 

"  Collecting  ?  "  queried  Nellie. 

"  Yes  ;  with  the  herbarium,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Nellie  dubiously.      "  But  you  told  me  once 

—  the   first  time   we  ever    talked    together,"   she    added, 
looking  in  his  eyes  —  "  something  about  your  keeping  your 
things  like  a  squirrel  in  a  tree.     Could  we  not  go  there  ? 
Is  there  not  room  for  us  to  sit  and  talk  without  being  brow- 
beaten and  looked  down  upon  by  these  supercilious  trees  ?  " 

"  It 's  too  far  away,"  said  Low  truthfully,  but  with  a 


36  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS 

somewhat  pronounced  emphasis,  "  much  too  far  for  you 
just  now ;  and  it  lies  on  another  trail  that  enters  the  wood 
beyond.  But  come,  I  will  show  you  a  spring  known  only 
to  myself,  the  wood  ducks,  and  the  squirrels.  I  discov- 
ered it  the  first  day  I  saw  you,  and  gave  it  your  name. 
But  you  shall  christen  it  yourself.  It  will  be  all  yours, 
and  yours  alone,  for  it  is  so  hidden  and  secluded  that  I 
defy  any  feet  but  my  own,  or  whoso  shall  keep  step  with 
mine,  to  find  it.  Shall  that  foot  be  yours,  Nellie  ?  " 

Her  face  beamed  with  a  bright  assent.  "  It  may  be 
difficult  to  track  it  from  here,"  he  said,  "  but  stand  where 
you  are  a  moment,  and  don't  move,  rustle,  nor  agitate  the 
air  in  any  way.  The  woods  are  still  now."  He  turned  at 
right  angles  with  the  trail,  moved  a  few  paces  into  the 
ferns  and  underbrush,  and  then  stopped  with  his  finger  on 
his  lips.  For  an  instant  both  remained  motionless  ;  then, 
with  his  intent  face  bent  forward  and  both  arms  extended, 
he  began  to  sink  slowly  upon  one  knee  and  one  side,  in- 
clining his  body  with  a  gentle,  perfectly  graduated  move- 
ment until  his  ear  almost  touched  the  ground.  Nellie 
watched  his  graceful  figure  breathlessly,  until,  like  a  bow 
unbent,  he  stood  suddenly  erect  again,  and  beckoned  to  her 
without  changing  the  direction  of  his  face. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  All  right ;  I  have  found  it,"  he  continued,  moving  for- 
ward without  turning  his  head. 

"  But  how  ?  What  did  you  kneel  for  ?  "  He  did  not 
reply,  but  taking  her  hand  in  his,  continued  to  move 
slowly  on  through  the  underbrush,  as  if  obeying  some 
magnetic  attraction.  "  How  did  you  find  it  ?  "  again  asked 
the  half -awed  girl,  her  voice  unconsciously  falling  to  a 
whisper.  Still  silent,  Low  kept  his  rigid  face  and  forward 
tread  for  twenty  yards  further;  then  he  stopped  and  re- 
leased the  girl's  half-impatient  hand.  "  How  did  you  find 
it  ?  "  she  repeated  sharply. 


IN  THE   CAEQUINEZ   WOODS  37 

"  With  my  ears  and  nose,"  replied  Low  gravely. 

"  With  your  nose  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  smelt  it." 

Still  fresh  with  the  memory  of  his  picturesque  attitude, 
the  young  man's  reply  seemed  to  involve  something  more 
irritating  to  her  feelings  than  even  that  absurd  anti-climax. 
She  looked  at  him  coldly  and  critically,  and  appeared  to 
hesitate  whether  to  proceed.  "  Is  it  far  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  more  than  ten  minutes  now,  as  I  shall  go." 

"And  you  won't  have  to  smell  your  way  again  ?  " 

"  No ;  it  is  quite  plain  now,"  he  answered  seriously, 
the  young  girl's  sarcasm  slipping  harmlessly  from  his 
Indian  stolidity.  "  Don't  you  smell  it  yourself  ?  " 

But  Miss  Nellie's  thin,  cold  nostrils  refused  to  take  that 
vulgar  interest. 

"  Nor  hear  it  ?     Listen  !  " 

"You  forget  I  suffer  the  misfortune  of  having  been 
brought  up  under  a  roof,"  she  replied  coldly. 

"  That 's  true,"  repeated  Low,  in  all  seriousness ;  "  it 's 
not  your  fault.  But  do  you  know,  I  sometimes  think  I  am 
peculiarly  sensitive  to  water  ;  I  feel  it  miles  away.  At 
night,  though  I  may  not  see  it  or  even  know  where  it  is, 
I  am  conscious  of  it.  It  is  company  to  me  when  I  am 
alone,  and  I  seem  to  hear  it  in  my  dreams.  There  is  no 
music  as  sweet  to  me  as  its  song.  When  you  sang  with 
me  that  day  in  church,  I  seemed  to  hear  it  ripple  in  your 
voice.  It  says  to  me  more  than  the  birds  do,  more  than 
the  rarest  plants  I  find.  It  seems  to  live  with  me  and  for 
me.  It  is  my  earliest  recollection  ;  I  know  it  will  be  my 
last,  for  I  shall  die  in  its  embrace.  Do  you  think,  Nellie," 
he  continued,  stopping  short  and  gazing  earnestly  in  her 
face  —  "do  you  think  that  the  chiefs  knew  this  when 
they  called  me  '  Sleeping  Water '  ?  " 

To  Miss  Nellie's  several  gifts  I  fear  the  gods  had  not 
added  poetry.  A  slight  knowledge  of  English  verse  of  a 


38  IN  THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS 

select  character,  unfortunately,  did  not  assist  her  in  the  in- 
terpretation of  the  young  man's  speech,  nor  relieve  her  from 
the  momentary  feeling  that  he  was  at  times  deficient  in 
intellect.  She  preferred,  however,  to  take  a  personal  view 
of  the  question,  and  expressed  her  sarcastic  regret  that  she 
had  not  known  before  that  she  had  been  indebted  to  the 
great  flume  and  ditch  at  Excelsior  for  the  pleasure  of  his 
acquaintance.  This  pert  remark  occasioned  some  explana- 
tion, which  ended  in  the  girl's  accepting  a  kiss  in  lieu  of 
more  logical  argument.  Nevertheless,  she  was  still  con- 
scious of  an  inward  irritation  —  always  distinct  from  her 
singular  and  perfectly  material  passion  —  which  found  vent 
as  the  difficulties  of  their  undeviating  progress  through  the 
underbrush  increased.  At  last  she  lost  her  shoe  again,  and 
stopped  short.  "  It 's  a  pity  your  Indian  friends  did  not 
christen  you  '  Wild  Mustard '  or  '  Clover,' "  she  said  satiri- 
cally, "  that  you  might  have  had  some  sympathies  and 
longings  for  the  open  fields  instead  of  these  horrid  jungles  ! 
I  know  we  will  not  get  back  in  time." 

Unfortunately,  Low  accepted  this  speech  literally  and 
with  his  remorseless  gravity.  "  If  my  name  annoys  you,  I 
can  get  it  changed  by  the  legislature,  you  know,  and  I  can 
find  out  what  my  father's  name  was,  and  take  that.  My 
mother,  who  died  in  giving  me  birth,  was  the  daughter  of  a 
chief." 

"  Then  your  mother  was  really  an  Indian  ?  "  said  Nel- 
lie, "  and  you  are  "  —  She  stopped  short. 

"  But  I  told  you  all  this  the  day  we  first  met,"  said 
Low,  with  grave  astonishment.  "  Don't  you  remember 
our  long  talk  coming  from  church  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Nellie  coldly,  "you  didn't  tell  me."  But 
she  was  obliged  to  drop  her  eyes  before  the  unwavering, 
undeniable  truthfulness  of  his. 

"  You  have  forgotten,"  he  said  calmly ;  "  but  it  is  only 
right  you  should  have  your  own  way  in  disposing  of  a 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  39 

name  that  I  have  cared  little  for ;  and  as  you  're  to  have 
a  share  of  it  "  — 

"  Yes,  but  it  'a  getting  late,  and  if  we  are  not  going 
forward  "  —  interrupted  the  girl  impatiently. 

"  We  are  going  forward,"  said  Low  imperturbably ; 
"  but  I  wanted  to  tell  you,  as  we  were  speaking  on  that 
subject "  (Nellie  looked  at  her  watch),  "  I  've  been  offered 
the  place  of  botanist  and  naturalist  in  Professor  Grant's 
survey  of  Mount  Shasta,  and  if  I  take  it  —  why,  when  I 
come  back,  darling  —  well  "  — 

"  But  you  're  not  going  just  yet,"  broke  in  Nellie,  with 
a  new  expression  in  her  face. 

"No." 

"  Then  we  need  not  talk  of  it  now,"  she  said  with  ani- 
mation. 

Her  sudden  vivacity  relieved  him.  "  I  see  what 's  the 
matter,"  he  said  gently,  looking  down  at  her  feet,  "  these 
little  shoes  were  not  made  to  keep  step  with  a  moccasin. 
We  must  try  another  way."  He  stooped  as  if  to  secure 
the  erring  buskin,  but  suddenly  lifted  her  like  a  child  to 
his  shoulder.  "  There,"  he  continued,  placing  her  arm 
around  his  neck,  "  you  are  clear  of  the  ferns  and  brambles 
now,  and  we  can  go  on.  Are  you  comfortable  ? "  He 
looked  up,  read  her  answer  in  her  burning  eyes  and  the 
warm  lips  pressed  to  his  forehead  at  the  roots  of  his 
straight  dark  hair,  and  again  moved  onward  as  in  a  mes- 
meric dream.  But  he  did  not  swerve  from  his  direct 
course,  and  with  a  final  dash  through  the  undergrowth 
parted  the  leafy  curtain  before  the  spring. 

At  first  the  young  girl  was  dazzled  by  the  strong  light 
that  came  from  a  rent  in  the  interwoven  arches  of  the 
wood.  The  breach  had  been  caused  by  the  huge  bulk 
of  one  of  the  great  giants  that  had  half  fallen,  and  was 
lying  at  a  steep  angle  against  one  of  its  mightiest  brethren, 
having  borne  down  a  lesser  tree  in  the  arc  of  its  down- 


40  IN  THE  CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

ward  path.  Two  of  the  roots,  as  large  as  younger  trees, 
tossed  their  blackened  and  bare  limbs  high  in  the  air. 
The  spring  —  the  insignificant  cause  of  this  vast  disrup- 
tion —  gurgled,  flashed,  and  sparkled  at  the  base  ;  the 
limpid  baby  fingers  that  had  laid  bare  the  foundations  of 
that  fallen  column  played  with  the  still  clinging  rootlets, 
laved  the  fractured  and  twisted  limbs,  and,  widening, 
filled  with  sleeping  water  the  graves  from  which  they  had 
been  torn. 

"  It  had  been  going  on  for  years,  down  there,"  said 
Low,  pointing  to  a  cavity  from  which  the  fresh  water  now 
slowly  welled,  "  but  it  had  been  quickened  by  the  rising 
of  the  subterranean  springs  and  rivers  which  always  oc- 
curs at  a  certain  stage  of  the  dry  season.  I  remember 
that  on  that  very  night  —  for  it  happened  a  little  after 
midnight,  when  all  sounds  are  more  audible  —  I  was 
troubled  and  oppressed  in  my  sleep  by  what  you  would 
call  a  nightmare  ;  a  feeling  as  if  I  was  kept  down  by 
bonds  and  pinions  that  I  longed  to  break.  And  then  I 
heard  a  crash  in  this  direction,  and  the  first  streak  of 
morning  brought  me  the  sound  and  scent  of  water.  Six 
months  afterwards  I  chanced  to  find  my  way  here,  as  I 
told  you,  and  gave  it  your  name.  I  did  not  dream  that  I 
should  ever  stand  beside  it  with  you,  and  have  you  christen 
it  yourself." 

He  unloosed  the  cup  from  his  flask,  and  filling  it  at 
the  spring  handed  it  to  her.  But  the  young  girl  leant 
over  the  pool,  and  pouring  the  water  idly  back  said,  "  I  'd 
rather  put  my  feet  in  it.  May  n't  I  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  he  said  wonderingly. 

"  My  feet  are  so  hot  and  dusty.  The  water  looks  de- 
liciously  cool.  May  I  ?  " 

"Certainly." 

He  turned  away  as  Nellie,  with  apparent  unconscious- 
ness, seated  herself  on  the  bank,  and  removed  her  shoes 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  41 

and  stockings.  When  she  had  dabbled  her  feet  a  few 
moments  in  the  pool,  she  said  over  her  shoulder,  — 

«  We  can  talk  just  as  well,  can't  we  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Well,  then,  why  did  n't  you  come  to  church  more 
often,  and  why  did  n't  you  think  of  telling  father  that  you 
were  convicted  of  sin  and  wanted  to  be  baptized  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  hesitated  the  young  man. 

"  Well,  you  lost  the  chance  of  having  father  convert 
you,  baptize  you,  and  take  you  into  full  church  fellow- 
ship." 

"  I  never  thought  "  —  he  began. 

"  You  never  thought.     Are  n't  you  a  Christian  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  He  supposes  so  !  Have  you  no  convictions  —  no  pro- 
fessions ?  " 

"  But,  Nellie,  I  never  thought  that  you  "  — 

"  Never  thought  that  I  —  what  ?  Do  you  think  that  I 
could  ever  be  anything  to  a  man  who  did  not  believe  in 
justification  by  faith,  or  in  the  covenant  of  church  fellow- 
ship ?  Do  you  think  father  would  let  me  ?  " 

In  his  eagerness  to  defend  himself  he  stepped  to  her 
side.  But  seeing  her  little  feet  shining  through  the  dark 
water,  like  outcroppings  of  delicately  veined  quartz,  he 
stopped  embarrassed.  Miss  Nellie,  however,  leaped  to 
one  foot,  and,  shaking  the  other  over  the  pool,  put  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder  to  steady  herself.  "You  haven't 
got  a  towel  —  or,"  she  said  dubiously,  looking  at  her 
small  handkerchief,  "  anything  to  dry  them  on  ?  " 

But  Low  did  not,  as  she  perhaps  expected,  offer  his 
own  handkerchief. 

"  If  you  take  a  bath  after  our  fashion,"  he  said  gravely, 
"  you  must  learn  to  dry  yourself  after  our  fashion." 

Lifting  her  again  lightly  in  his  arms,  he  carried  her  a 
few  steps  to  the  sunny  opening,  and  bade  her  bury  her 


42  IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

feet  in  the  dried  mosses  and  baked  withered  grasses  that 
were  bleaching  in  a  hollow.  The  young  girl  uttered  a 
cry  of  childish  delight,  as  the  soft  ciliated  fibres  touched 
her  sensitive  skin. 

"  It  is  healing,  too,"  continued  Low ;  "  a  moccasin 
filled  with  it  after  a  day  on  the  trail  makes  you  all  right 
again." 

But  Miss  Nellie  seemed  to  be  thinking  of  something 
else. 

"Is  that  the  way  the  squaws  bathe  and  dry  them- 
selves ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  you  forget  I  was  a  boy  when  I  left 
them." 

"  And  you  're  sure  you  never  knew  any  ?  " 

"None." 

The  young  girl  seemed  to  derive  some  satisfaction  in 
moving  her  feet  up  and  down  for  several  minutes  among 
the  grasses  in  the  hollow ;  then,  after  a  pause,  said,  "  You 
are  quite  certain  I  am  the  first  woman  that  ever  touched 
this  spring  ?  " 

"  Not  only  the  first  woman,  but  the  first  human  being, 
except  myself." 

"  How  nice  ! " 

They  had  taken  each  other's  hands ;  seated  side  by 
side,  they  leaned  against  a  curving  elastic  root  that  half 
supported,  half  encompassed  them.  The  girl's  capri- 
cious, fitful  manner  succumbed  as  before  to  the  near  con- 
tact of  her  companion.  Looking  into  her  eyes,  Low  fell 
into  a  sweet,  selfish  lover's  monologue,  descriptive  of  his 
past  and  present  feelings  toward  her,  which  she  accepted 
with  a  heightened  color,  a  slight  exchange  of  sentiment, 
and  a  strange  curiosity.  The  sun  had  painted  their  half- 
embraced  silhouettes  against  the  slanting  tree-trunk,  and 
began  to  decline  unnoticed ;  the  ripple  of  the  water 
mingling  with  their  whispers  came  as  one  sound  to  the 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  43 

listening  ear  ;  even  their  eloquent  silences  were  as  deep, 
and,  I  wot,  perhaps  as  dangerous  as  the  darkened  pool 
that  filled  so  noiselessly  a  dozen  yards  away.  So  quiet 
were  they  that  the  tremor  of  invading  wings  once  or 
twice  shook  the  silence,  or  the  quick  scamper  of  fright- 
ened feet  rustled  the  dead  grass.  But  in  the  midst  of  a 
prolonged  stillness  the  young  man  sprang  up  so  suddenly 
that  Nellie  was  still  half  clinging  to  his  neck  as  he  stood 
erect.  "  Hush  !  "  he  whispered  ;  "  some  one  is  near  !  " 

He  disengaged  her  anxious  hands  gently,  leaped  upon  the 
slanting  tree-trunk,  and  running  half  way  up  its  incline  with 
the  agility  of  a  squirrel,  stretched  himself  at  full  length 
upon  it,  and  listened. 

To  the  impatient,  inexplicably  startled  girl,  it  seemed  an 
age  before  he  rejoined  her. 

"  You  are  safe,"  he  said ;  "  he 's  going  by  the  western 
trail  toward  Indian  Spring." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  she  asked,  biting  her  lips  with  a  poorly 
restrained  gesture  of  mortification  and  disappointment. 

"  Some  stranger,"  replied  Low. 

"  As  long  as  he  was  n't  coming  here,  why  did  you  give 
me  such  a  fright  ?  "  she  said  pettishly.  "  Are  you  nervous 
because  a  single  wayfarer  happens  to  stray  here  ?  " 

"  It  was  no  wayfarer,  for  he  tried  to  keep  near  the 
trail,"  said  Low.  "  He  was  a  stranger  to  the  wood,  for  he 
lost  his  way  every  now  and  then.  He  was  seeking  or  ex- 
pecting some  one,  for  he  stopped  frequently  and  waited  or 
listened.  He  had  not  walked  far,  for  he  wore  spurs  that 
tinkled  and  caught  in  the  brush  ;  and  yet  he  had  not  rid- 
den here,  for  no  horse's  hoofs  passed  the  road  since  we 
have  been  here.  He  must  have  come  from  Indian 
Spring." 

"  And  you  heard  all  that  when  you  listened  just  now  ?  " 
asked  Nellie  half  disdainfully. 

Impervious  to  her  incredulity,  Low  turned  his  calm  eyes 


44  IN  THE   CAEQUINEZ  WOODS 

on  her  face.  "  Certainly,  I  '11  bet  my  life  on  what  I  say. 
Tell  me  ;  do  you  know  anybody  in  Indian  Spring  who 
would  likely  spy  upon  you  ?  " 

The  young  girl  was  conscious  of  a  certain  ill-defined 
uneasiness,  but  answered,  "  No." 

"  Then  it  was  not  you  he  wa.s  seeking,"  said  Low 
thoughtfully.  Miss  Nellie  had  not  time  to  notice  the 
emphasis,  for  he  added,  "  You  must  go  at  once ;  and  lest 
you  have  been  followed  I  will  show  you  another  way  back 
to  Indian  Spring.  It  is  longer,  and  you  must  hasten. 
Take  your  shoes  and  stockings  with  you  until  we  are  out 
of  the  bush." 

He  raised  her  again  in  his  arms  and  strode  once  more 
out  through  the  covert  into  the  dim  aisles  of  the  wood. 

They  spoke  but  little ;  she  could  not  help  feeling  that 
some  other  discordant  element,  affecting  him  more  strongly 
than  it  did  her,  had  come  between  them,  and  was  half 
perplexed  and  half  frightened.  At  the  end  of  ten  minutes 
he  seated  her  upon  a  fallen  branch,  and  telling  her  he 
would  return  by  the  time  she  had  resumed  her  shoes  and 
stockings  glided  from  her  like  a  shadow.  She  would  have 
uttered  an  indignant  protest  at  being  left  alone,  but  he 
was  gone  ere  she  could  detain  him.  For  a  moment  she 
thought  she  hated  him.  But  when  she  had  mechanically 
shod  herself  once  more,  not  without  nervous  shivers  at 
every  falling  needle,  he  was  at  her  side. 

"Do  you  know  any  one  who  wears  a  frieze  coat  like 
that  ?  "  he  asked,  handing  her  a  few  torn  shreds  of  wool 
affixed  to  a  splinter  of  bark. 

Miss  Nellie  instantly  recognized  the  material  of  a  certain 
sporting-coat  worn  by  Mr.  Jack  Brace  on  festive  occasions, 
but  a  strange  yet  infallible  instinct  that  was  part  of  her 
nature  made  her  instantly  disclaim  all  knowledge  of  it. 

"  No,"  she  said. 

"  Not  any  one  who  scents  himself  with  some   doctor's 


IN  THE   CAKQUINEZ  WOODS  45 

stuff  like  cologne  ?  "  continued  Low,  with  the  disgust  of 
keen  olfactory  sensibilities. 

Again  Miss  Nellie  recognized  the  perfume  with  which  the 
gallant  expressman  was  wont  to  make  redolent  her  little 
parlor,  but  again  she  avowed  no  knowledge  of  its  possessor. 
"Well,"  returned  Low,  with  some  disappointment,  "such 
a  man  has  been  here.  Be  on  your  guard.  Let  us  go  at 
once." 

She  required  no  urging  to  hasten  her  steps,  but  hurried 
breathlessly  at  his  side.  He  had  taken  a  new  trail  by 
which  they  left  the  wood  at  right  angles  with  the  highway, 
two  miles  away.  Following  an  almost  effaced  mule  track 
along  a  slight  depression  of  the  plain,  deep  enough,  how- 
ever, to  hide  them  from  view,  he  accompanied  her,  until, 
rising  to  the  level  again,  she  saw  they  were  beginning  to 
approach  the  highway  and  the  distant  roofs  of  Indian 
Spring.  "  Nobody  meeting  you  now,"  he  whispered, 
"  would  suspect  where  you  had  been.  Good-night !  until 
next  week  —  remember." 

They  pressed  each  other's  hands,  and  standing  on  the 
slight  ridge  outlined  against  the  paling  sky,  in  full  view  of 
the  highway,  parted  carelessly,  as  if  they  had  been  chance- 
met  travelers.  But  Nellie  could  not  restrain  a  parting 
backward  glance  as  she  left  the  ridge.  Low  had  descended 
to  the  deserted  trail,  and  was  running  swiftly  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Carquinez  Woods. 


CHAPTER  IY 

TERESA  awoke  with  a  start.  It  was  day  already,  but 
how  far  advanced  the  even,  unchanging,  soft  twilight  of 
the  woods  gave  no  indication.  Her  companion  had  van- 
ished, and  to  her  bewildered  senses  so  had  the  camp-fire, 
even  to  its  embers  and  ashes.  Was  she  awake,  or  had  she 
wandered  away  unconsciously  in  the  night  ?  One  glance 
at  the  tree  above  her  dissipated  the  fancy.  There  was  the 
opening  of  her  quaint  retreat  and  the  hanging  strips  of 
bark,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  opposite  tree  lay  the  carcass  of 
the  bear.  It  had  been  skinned,  and,  as  Teresa  thought 
with  an  inward  shiver,  already  looked  half  its  former  size. 

Not  yet  accustomed  to  the  fact  that  a  few  steps  in  either 
direction  around  the  circumference  of  those  great  trunks 
produced  the  sudden  appearance  or  disappearance  of  any 
figure,  Teresa  uttered  a  slight  scream  as  her  young  compan- 
ion unexpectedly  stepped  to  her  side.  "  You  see  a  change 
here,"  he  said  ;  "  the  stamped-out  ashes  of  the  camp-fire 
lie  under  the  brush,"  and  he  pointed  to  some  cleverly 
scattered  boughs  and  strips  of  bark  which  completely 
effaced  the  traces  of  last  night's  bivouac.  "We  can't 
afford  to  call  the  attention  of  any  packer  or  hunter  who 
might  straggle  this  way  to  this  particular  spot  and  this 
particular  tree  ;  the  more  naturally,"  he  added,  "  as  they 
always  prefer  to  camp  over  an  old  fire."  Accepting  this 
explanation  meekly,  as  partly  a  reproach  for  her  caprice  of 
the  previous  night,  Teresa  hung  her  head. 

"  I  'm  very  sorry,"  she  said,  "  but  would  n't  that," 
pointing  to  the  carcass  of  the  bear,  "  have  made  them 
curious  ?  " 


IN  THE   CAEQUINEZ  WOODS  47 

But  Low's  logic  was  relentless. 

"  By  this  time  there  would  have  been  little  left  to  excite 
curiosity  if  you  had  been  willing  to  leave  those  beasts  to 
their  work." 

"  I  'm  very  sorry,"  repeated  the  woman,  her  lips  quiver- 
ing. 

"  They  are  the  scavengers  of  the  wood,"  he  continued  in 
a  lighter  tone ;  "  if  you  stay  here  you  must  try  to  use  them 
to  keep  your  house  clean." 

Teresa  smiled  nervously. 

"  I  mean  that  they  shall  finish  their  work  to-night,"  he 
added,  "  and  I  shall  build  another  camp-fire  for  us  a  mile 
from  here  until  they  do." 

But  Teresa  caught  his  sleeve. 

"No,"  she  said  hurriedly,  "don't,  please,  for  me.  You 
must  not  take  the  trouble  nor  the  risk.  Hear  me  ;  do, 
please.  I  can  bear  it,  I  will  bear  it  —  to-night.  I  would 
have  borne  it  last  night,  but  it  was  so  strange  —  and,"  she 
passed  her  hands  over  her  forehead,  "  I  think  I  must  have 
been  half  mad.  But  I  am  not  so  foolish  now." 

She  seemed  so  broken  and  despondent  that  he  replied 
reassuringly  :  "  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  that  I  should 
find  another  hiding-place  for  you,  until  I  can  dispose  of 
that  carcass,  so  that  it  will  not  draw  dogs  after  the  wolves, 
and  men  after  them.  Besides,  your  friend  the  sheriff  will 
probably  remember  the  bear  when  he  remembers  anything, 
and  try  to  get  on  its  track  again." 

"  He  's  a  conceited  fool,"  broke  in  Teresa  in  a  high  voice, 
with  a  slight  return  of  her  old  fury,  "or  he  'd  have  guessed 
where  that  shot  came  from  ;  and,"  she  added  in  a  lower 
tone,  looking  down  at  her  limp  and  nerveless  fingers,  "  he 
would  n't  have  let  a  poor,  weak,  nervous  wretch  like  me 
get  away." 

"  But  his  deputy  may  put  two  and  two  together,  and 
connect  your  escape  with  it." 


48  IN  THE   CAEQUINEZ   WOODS 

Teresa's  eyes  flashed.  "  It  would  be  like  the  dog,  just 
to  save  his  pride,  to  swear  it  was  an  ambush  of  my  friends, 
and  that  he  was  overpowered  by  numbers.  Oh  yes  !  I 
see  it  all !  "  she  almost  screamed,  lashing  herself  into  a 
rage  at  the  bare  contemplation  of  this  diminution  of  her 
glory.  "  That  Js  the  dirty  lie  he  tells  everywhere,  and  is 
telling  now." 

She  stamped  her  feet  and  glanced  savagely  around,  as  if 
at  any  risk  to  proclaim  the  falsehood.  Low  turned  his  im- 
passive, truthful  face  towards  her. 

"  Sheriff  Dunn,"  he  began  gravely,  "  is  a  politician,  and 
a  fool  when  he  takes  to  the  trail  as  a  hunter  of  man  or 
beast.  But  he  is  not  a  coward  nor  a  liar.  Your  chances 
would  be  better  if  he  were  —  if  he  laid  your  escape  to  an 
ambush  of  your  friends,  than  if  his  pride  held  you  alone 
responsible." 

"  If  he  's  such  a  good  man,  why  do  you  hesitate  ?  "  she 
replied  bitterly.  "  Why  don't  you  give  me  up  at  once,  and 
do  a  service  to  one  of  your  friends  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  even  know  him,"  returned  Low,  opening  his 
clear  eyes  upon  her.  "  I  've  promised  to  hide  you  here, 
and  I  shall  hide  you  as  well  from  him  as  from  anybody." 

Teresa  did  not  reply,  but  suddenly  dropping  down  upon 
the  ground  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  began  to  sob 
convulsively.  Low  turned  impassively  away,  and  putting 
aside  the  bark  curtain  climbed  into  the  hollow  tree.  In 
a  few  moments  he  reappeared,  laden  with  provisions  and  a 
few  simple  cooking-utensils,  and  touched  her  lightly  on 
the  shoulder.  She  looked  up  timidly  ;  the  paroxysm  had 
passed,  but  her  lashes  yet  glittered. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  come  and  get  some  breakfast.  I  find 
you  have  eaten  nothing  since  you  have  been  here — twenty- 
four  hours." 

"  I  did  n't  know  it,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  smile.  Then 
seeing  his  burden,  and  possessed  by  a  new  and  strange 


IN  THE   CAKQUINEZ  WOODS  49 

desire  for  some  menial  employment,  she  said  hurriedly, 
"  Let  me  carry  something  —  do,  please,"  and  even  tried  to 
disencumber  him. 

Half  annoyed,  Low  at  last  yielded,  and  handing  his  rifle 
said,  "  There,  then,  take  that ;  but  be  careful  —  it 's 
loaded  ! " 

A  cruel  blush  burnt  the  woman's  face  to  the  roots  of 
her  hair  as  she  took  the  weapon  hesitatingly  in  her  hand. 

"  No !  "  she  stammered,  hurriedly  lifting  her  shame- 
suffused  eyes  to  his  ;  "  no  !  no  !  " 

He  turned  away  with  an  impatience  which  showed  her 
how  completely  gratuitous  had  been  her  agitation  and  its 
significance,  and  said,  "  Well,  then  give  it  back  if  you  are 
afraid  of  it."  But  she  as  suddenly  declined  to  return  it; 
and  shouldering  it  deftly,  took  her  place  by  his  side. 
Silently  they  moved  from  the  hollow  tree  together. 

During  their  walk  she  did  not  attempt  to  invade  his 
taciturnity.  Nevertheless  she  was  as  keenly  alive  and 
watchful  of  his  every  movement  and  gesture  as  if  she  had 
hung  enchanted  on  his  lips.  The  unerring  way  with 
which  he  pursued  a  viewless,  undeviating  path  through 
those  trackless  woods,  his  quick  reconnaissance  of  certain 
trees  or  openings,  his  mute  inspection  of  some  almost  im- 
perceptible footprint  of  bird  or  beast,  his  critical  examination 
of  certain  plants  which  he  plucked  and  deposited  in  his 
deerskin  haversack,  were  not  lost  on  the  quick-witted 
woman.  As  they  gradually  changed  the  clear,  unencum- 
bered aisles  of  the  central  woods  for  a  more  tangled  under- 
growth, Teresa  felt  that  subtle  admiration  which  culminates 
in  imitation,  and  simulating  perfectly  the  step,  tread,  and 
easy  swing  of  her  companion,  followed  so  accurately  his 
lead  that  she  won  a  gratified  exclamation  from  him  when 
their  goal  was  reached  —  a  broken,  blackened  shaft,  splin- 
tered by  long-forgotten  lightning,  in  the  centre  of  a  tangled 
carpet  of  wood-clover. 


50  IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  distanced  the  deputy,"  he  said 
cheerfully,  throwing  down  his  burden,  "  if  you  can  take 
the  hunting-path  like  that.  In  a  few  days,  if  you  stay 
here,  I  can  venture  to  trust  you  alone  for  a  little  pasear 
when  you  are  tired  of  the  tree." 

Teresa  looked  pleased,  but  busied  herself  with  arrange- 
ments for  the  breakfast,  while  he  gathered  the  fuel  for  the 
roaring  fire  which  soon  blazed  beside  the  shattered  tree. 

Teresa's  breakfast  was  a  success.  It  was  a  revelation  to 
the  young  nomad,  whose  ascetic  habits  and  simple  tastes 
were  usually  content  with  the  most  primitive  forms  of 
frontier  cookery.  It  was  at  least  a  surprise  to  him  to  know 
that  without  extra  trouble  kneaded  flour,  water,  and  salera- 
tus  need  not  be  essentially  heavy  ;  that  coffee  need  not  be 
boiled  with  sugar  to  the  consistency  of  syrup ;  that  even 
that  rarest  delicacy,  small  shreds  of  venison  covered  with 
ashes  and  broiled  upon  the  end  of  a  ramrod  boldly  thrust 
into  the  flames,  would  be  better  and  even  more  expeditiously 
cooked  upon  burning  coals.  Moved  in  his  practical  nature, 
he  was  surprised  to  find  this  curious  creature  of  disorganized 
nerves  and  useless  impulses  informed  with  an  intelligence 
that  did  not  preclude  the  welfare  of  humanity  or  the  exist- 
ence of  a  soul.  He  respected  her  for  some  minutes,  until 
in  the  midst  of  a  culinary  triumph  a  big  tear  dropped  and 
spluttered  in  the  saucepan.  But  he  forgave  the  irrelevancy 
by  taking  no  notice  of  it,  and  by  doing  full  justice  to  that 
particular  dish. 

Nevertheless,  he  asked  several  questions  based  upon  these 
recently  discovered  qualities.  It  appeared  that  in  the  old 
days  of  her  wanderings  with  the  circus  troupe  she  had  often 
been  forced  to  undertake  this  nomadic  housekeeping.  But 
she  "  despised  it,"  had  never  done  it  since,  and  always  had 
refused  to  do  it  for  "  him  "  —  the  personal  pronoun  refer- 
ring, as  Low  understood,  to  her  lover,  Curson.  Not  caring 
to  revive  these  memories  further,  Low  briefly  concluded :  — 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  51 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  were,  or  what  you  may  be, 
but  from  what  I  see  of  you  you  've  got  all  the  sabe  of  a 
frontiersman's  wife." 

She  stopped  and  looked  at  him,  and  then,  with  an  im- 
pulse of  impudence  that  only  half  concealed  a  more  serious 
vanity,  asked,  "Do  you  think  I  might  have  made  a  good 
squaw  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied  quietly.  "  I  never  saw 
enough  of  them  to  know." 

Teresa,  confident  from  his  clear  eyes  that  he  spoke  the 
truth,  but  having  nothing  ready  to  follow  this  calm  dis- 
posal of  her  curiosity,  relapsed  into  silence. 

The  meal  finished,  Teresa  washed  their  scant  table 
equipage  in  a  little  spring  .  near  the  camp-fire ;  where, 
catching  sight  of  her  disordered  dress  and  collar,  she 
rapidly  threw  her  shawl,  after  the  national  fashion,  over 
her  shoulder  and  pinned  it  quickly.  Low  cached  the  re- 
maining provisions  and  the  few  cooking-utensils  under  the 
dead  embers  and  ashes,  obliterating  all  superficial  indica- 
tion of  their  camp-fire  as  deftly  and  artistically  as  he  had 
before. 

"There  is  n't  the  ghost  of  a  chance,"  he  said  in  expla- 
nation, "  that  anybody  but  you  or  I  will  set  foot  here  be- 
fore we  come  back  to  supper,  but  it 's  well  to  be  on  guard. 
I'll  take  you  back  to  the  cabin  now,  though  I  bet  you 
could  find  your  way  there  as  well  as  I  can." 

On  their  way  back  Teresa  ran  ahead  of  her  companion, 
and  plucking  a  few  tiny  leaves  from  a  hidden  oasis  in  the 
bark-strewn  trail  brought  them  to  him. 

"  That 's  the  kind  you  're  looking  for,  is  n't  it  ? "  she 
said  half  timidly. 

"  It  is,"  responded  Low,  in  gratified  surprise ;  "  but 
how  did  you  know  it  ?  You  're  not  a  botanist,  are  you  ?  " 

"I  reckon  not,"  said  Teresa;  "but  you  picked  some 
when  we  came,  and  I  noticed  what  they  were." 


52  IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

Here  was  indeed  another  revelation.  Low  stopped  and 
gazed  at  her  with  such  frank,  open,  utterly  unabashed 
curiosity  that  her  black  eyes  fell  before  him. 

"And  do  you  think,"  he  asked  with  logical  delibera- 
tion, "  that  you  could  find  any  plant  from  another  I  should 
give  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Or  from  a  drawing  of  it  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  perhaps  even  if  you  described  it  to  me." 

A  half-confidential,  half -fraternal  silence  followed. 

"  I  tell  you  what.     I  've  got  a  book  "  — 

"I  know  it,"  interrupted  Teresa;  "full  of  these  things." 

"  Yes.     Do  you  think  you  could  "  — 

"  Of  course  I  could,"  broke  in  Teresa  again. 

"  But  you  don't  know  what  I  mean,"  said  the  imperturb- 
able Low. 

"  Certainly  I  do.  Why,  find  'em,  and  preserve  all  the 
different  ones  for  you  to  write  under  —  that 's  it,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

Low  nodded  his  head,  gratified,  but  not  entirely  con- 
vinced that  she  had  fully  estimated  the  magnitude  of  the 
endeavor. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Teresa,  in  the  feminine  proscriptum 
voice  which  it  would  seem  entered  even  the  philosophical 
calm  of  the  aisles  they  were  treading — "I  suppose  that 
she  places  great  value  on  them  ?  " 

Low  had  indeed  heard  Science  personified  before,  nor 
was  it  at  all  impossible  that  the  singular  woman  walking 
by  his  side  had  also.  He  said,  "  Yes ;  "  but  added,  in 
mental  reference  to  the  Linnaean  Society  of  San  Francisco, 
that  "they  were  rather  particular  about  the  rarer  kinds." 

.Content  as  Teresa  had  been  to  believe  in  Low's  tender 
relations  with  some  favored  one  of  her  sex,  this  frank  con* 
fession  of  a  plural  devotion  staggered  her. 

"  They  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued  calmly.     "  The  Botanical  Society 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  53 

I  correspond  with  are  more  particular  than  the  Govern- 
ment Survey." 

"  Then  you  are  doing  this  for  a  society  ?  "  demanded 
Teresa,  with  a  stare. 

"  Certainly.  I  'm  making  a  collection  and  classifica- 
tion of  specimens.  I  intend  —  but  what  are  you  looking 
at?" 

Teresa  had  suddenly  turned  away.  Putting  his  hand 
lightly  on  her  shoulder,  the  young  man  brought  her  face  to 
face  with  him  again.  She  was  laughing. 

"  I  thought  all  the  while  it  was  for  a  girl,"  she  said  ; 
"  and "  —  But  here  the  mere  effort  of  speech  sent  her 
off  into  an  audible  and  genuine  outburst  of  laughter.  It 
was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  her  even  smile  other  than 
bitterly.  Characteristically  unconscious  of  any  humor  in 
her  error,  he  remained  unembarrassed.  But  he  could  not 
help  noticing  a  change  in  the  expression  of  her  face,  her 
voice,  and  even  her  intonation.  It  seemed  as  if  that  fit 
of  laughter  had  loosed  the  last  ties  that  bound  her  to  a 
self-imposed  character,  had  swept  away  the  last  barrier 
between  her  and  her  healthier  nature,  had  dispossessed  a 
painful  unreality,  and  relieved  the  morbid  tension  of  a 
purely  nervous  attitude.  The  change  in  her  utterance 
and  the  resumption  of  her  softer  Spanish  accent  seemed 
to  have  come  with  her  confidences,  and  Low  took  leave 
of  her  before  their  sylvan  cabin  with  a  comrade's  hearti- 
ness, and  a  complete  forgetfulness  that  her  voice  had  ever 
irritated  him. 

When  he  returned  that  afternoon  he  was  startled  to  find 
the  cabin  empty.  But  instead  of  bearing  any  appearance 
of  disturbance  or  hurried  flight,  the  rude  interior  seemed  to 
have  magically  assumed  a  decorous  order  and  cleanliness 
unknown  before.  Fresh  bark  hid  the  inequalities  of  the 
floor.  The  skins  and  blankets  were  folded  in  the  corners, 
the  rude  shelves  were  carefully  arranged ;  even  a  few  tall 


54  IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

ferns  and  bright  but  quickly  fading  flowers  were  disposed 
around  the  blackened  chimney.  She  had  evidently  availed 
herself  of  the  change  of  clothing  he  had  brought  her,  for 
her  late  garments  were  hanging  from  the  hastily-devised 
wooden  pegs  driven  in  the  wall.  The  young  man  gazed 
around  him  with  mixed  feelings  of  gratification  and  uneasi- 
ness. His  presence  had  been  dispossessed  in  a  single  hour ; 
his  ten  years  of  lonely  habitation  had  left  no  trace  that  this 
woman  had  not  effaced  with  a  deft  move  of  her  hand. 
More  than  that,  it  looked  as  if  she  had  always  occupied  it ; 
and  it  was  with  a  singular  conviction  that  even  when  she 
should  occupy  it  no  longer  it  would  only  revert  to  him  as 
her  dwelling,  that  he  dropped  the  bark  shutters  athwart  the 
opening,  and  left  it  to  follow  her. 

To  his  quick  ear,  fine  eye,  and  abnormal  senses,  this  was 
easy  enough.  She  had  gone  in  the  direction  of  this  morn- 
ing's camp.  Once  or  twice  he  paused  with  a  half-gesture 
of  recognition  and  a  characteristic  "  Good  !  "  at  the  place 
where  she  had  stopped,  but  was  surprised  to  find  that  her 
main  course  had  been  as  direct  as  his  own.  Deviating 
from  this  direct  line  with  Indian  precaution  he  first  made  a 
circuit  of  the  camp,  and  approached  the  shattered  trunk 
from  the  opposite  direction.  He  consequently  came  upon 
Teresa  unawares.  But  the  momentary  astonishment  and 
embarrassment  were  his  alone. 

He  scarcely  recognized  her. '  She  was  wearing  the  gar- 
ments he  had  brought  her  the  day  before  —  a  certain  dis- 
carded gown  of  Miss  Nellie  Wynn,  which  he  had  hurriedly 
begged  from  her  under  the  pretext  of  clothing  the  wife  of  a 
distressed  overland  emigrant  then  on  the  way  to  the  mines. 
Although  he  had  satisfied  his  conscience  with  the  intention 
of  confessing  the  pious  fraud  to  her  when  Teresa  was  gone 
and  safe  from  pursuit,  it  was  not  without  a  sense  of  remorse 
that  he  witnessed  the  sacreligious  transformation.  The  two 
women  were  nearly  the  same  height  and  size ;  and  although 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS  55 

Teresa's  maturer  figure  accented  the  outlines  more  strongly, 
it  was  still  becoming  enough  to  increase  his  irritation. 

Of  this  becomingness  she  was  doubtless  unaware  at  the 
moment  that  he  surprised  her.  She  was  conscious  of  hav- 
ing "  a  change,"  and  this  had  emboldened  her  to  "  do  her 
hair  "  and  otherwise  compose  herself.  After  their  greeting 
she  was  the  first  to  allude  to  the  dress,  regretting  that  it 
was  not  more  of  a  rough  disguise,  and  that,  as  she  must 
now  discard  the  national  habit  of  wearing  her  shawl 
"  manta "  fashion  over  her  head,  she  wanted  a  hat. 
"  But  you  must  not,"  she  said,  "  borrow  any  more  dresses 
for  me  from  your  young  woman.  Buy  them  for  me  at  some 
shop.  They  left  me  enough  money  for  that."  Low  gently 
put  aside  the  few  pieces  of  gold  she  had  drawn  from  her 
pocket,  and  briefly  reminded  her  of  the  suspicion  such  a 
purchase  by  him  would  produce.  "  That 's  so,"  she  said 
with  a  laugh.  "  Caramba  !  what  a  mule  I  'm  becoming  ! 
Ah  !  wait  a  moment.  I  have  it !  Buy  me  a  common  felt 
hat  —  a  man  's  hat  —  as  if  for  yourself,  as  a  change  to  that 
animal,"  pointing  to  the  fox-tailed  cap  he  wore  summer 
and  winter,  "  and  I  '11  show  you  a  trick.  I  have  n't  run 
a  theatrical  wardrobe  for  nothing."  Nor  had  she,  for  the 
hat  thus  procured,  a  few  days  later,  became,  by  the  aid  of 
a  silk  handkerchief  and  a  bluejay's  feather,  a  fascinating 
"  pork  pie." 

Whatever  cause  of  annoyance  to  Low  still  lingered  in 
Teresa's  dress,  it  was  soon  forgotten  in  a  palpable  evidence 
of  Teresa's  value  as  botanical  assistant.  It  appeared  that 
during  the  afternoon  she  had  not  only  duplicated  his  spe- 
cimens, but  had  discovered  one  or  two  rare  plants  as  yet 
unclassified  in  the  flora  of  the  Carquinez  Woods.  He  was 
delighted,  and  in  turn,  over  the  camp-fire,  yielded  up  some 
details  of  his  present  life  and  some  earlier  recollections. 

"  You  don't  remember  anything  of  your  father  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  Did  he  ever  try  to  seek  you  out  ?  " 


56  IN  THE  CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

"No!  Why  should  he?"  replied  the  imperturbable 
Low  ;  "  he  was  not  a  Cherokee." 

"No,  he  was  a  beast,"  responded  Teresa  promptly. 
"  And  your  mother  —  do  you  remember  her  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  she  died." 

"  You  think  she  died  ?     Don't  you  know  ?  " 

"No!" 

"  Then  you  're  another  !  "  said  Teresa.  Notwithstand- 
ing this  frankness,  they  shook  hands  for  the  night ;  Teresa 
nestling  like  a  rabbit  in  a  hollow  by  the  side  of  the  camp- 
fire;  Low  with  his  feet  towards  it,  Indian-wise,  and  his 
head  and  shoulders  pillowed  on  his  haversack,  only  half 
distinguishable  in  the  darkness  beyond. 

With  such  trivial  details  three  uneventful  days  slipped 
by.  Their  retreat  was  undisturbed,  nor  could  Low  detect, 
by  the  least  evidence  to  his  acute  perceptive  faculties,  that 
any  intruding  feet  had  since  crossed  the  belt  of  shade.  The 
echoes  of  passing  events  at  Indian  Spring  had  recorded  the 
escape  of  Teresa  as  occurring  at  a  remote  and  purely 
imaginative  distance,  and  her  probable  direction  the  county 
of  Yolo. 

"  Can  you  remember,"  he  one  day  asked  her,  "  what 
time  it  was  when  you  cut  the  riata  and  got  away  ?  " 

Teresa  pressed  her  hands  upon  her  eyes  and  temples. 

"  About  three,  I  reckon." 

"  And  you  were  here  at  seven  ;  you  could  have  covered 
some  ground  in  four  hours  ?  " 

"Perhaps  —  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  her  .voice  taking 
up  its  old  quality  again.  "  Don't  ask  me  —  I  ran  all  the 
way." 

Her  face  was  quite  pale  as  she  removed  her  hands  from 
her  eyes,  and  her  breath  came  as  quickly  as  if  she  had  just 
finished  that  race  for  life. 

"  Then  you  think  I  am  safe  here  ?  "  she  added,  after  a 
pause. 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS  57 

"  Perfectly  —  until  they  find  you  are  not  in  Yolo.  Then 
they  '11  look  here.  And  that 's  the  time  for  you  to  go  there." 

Teresa  smiled  timidly.  "  It  will  take  them  some  time 
to  search  Yolo  —  unless,"  she  added,  "  you  're  tired  of  me 
here."  The  charming  non  sequltur  did  not,  however,  seem 
to  strike  the  young  man.  "  I  've  got  time  yet  to  find  a 
few  more  plants  for  you,"  she  suggested. 

"  Oh,  certainly  !  " 

"  And  give  you  a  few  more  lessons  in  cooking." 

"  Perhaps." 

The  conscientious  and  literal  Low  was  beginning  to 
doubt  if  she  were  really  practical.  How  otherwise  could 
she  trifle  with  such  a  situation  ? 

It  must  be  confessed  that  that  day  and  the  next  she  did 
trifle  with  it.  She  gave  herself  up  to  a  grave  and  delicious 
languor  that  seemed  to  flow  from  shadow  and  silence  and 
permeate  her  entire  being.  She  passed  hours  in  a  thought- 
ful repose  of  mind  and  spirit  that  seemed  to  fall  like  balm 
from  those  steadfast  guardians,  and  distill  their  gentle 
ether  in  her  soul ;  or  breathed  into  her  listening  ear  im- 
munity from  the  forgotten  past  and  security  for  the  pre- 
sent. If  there  was  no  dream  of  the  future  in  this  calm, 
even  recurrence  of  placid  existence,  so  much  the  better. 
The  simple  details  of  each  succeeding  day,  the  quaint 
housekeeping,  the  brief  companionship  and  coming  and 
going  of  her  young  host,  —  himself  at  best  a  crystallized 
personification  of  the  sedate  and  hospitable  woods,  —  satis- 
fied her  feeble  cravings.  She  no  longer  regretted  the  inferior 
passion  that  her  fears  had  obliged  her  to  take  the  first  night 
she  came  ;  she  began  to  look  up  to  this  young  man  —  so 
much  younger  than  herself  —  without  knowing  what  it 
meant ;  it  was  not  until  she  found  that  this  attitude  did 
not  detract  from  his  picturesqueness  that  she  discovered 
herself  seeking  for  reasons  to  degrade  him  from  this  seduc- 
tive eminence. 


58  IN  THE   CAKQUINEZ   WOODS 

A  week  had  elapsed  with  little  change.  On  two  days 
he  had  been  absent  all  day,  returning  only  in  time  to  sup 
in  the  hollow  tree,  which,  thanks  to  the  final  removal  of 
the  dead  bear  from  its  vicinity,  was  now  considered  a 
safer  retreat  than  the  exposed  camp-fire.  On  the  first  of 
these  occasions  she  received  him  with  some  preoccupation, 
paying  but  little  heed  to  the  scant  gossip  he  brought  from 
Indian  Spring,  and  retiring  early  under  the  plea  of  fatigue, 
that  he  might;  seek  his  own  distant  camp-fire,  which,  thanks 
to  her  stronger  nerves  and  regained  courage,  she  no  longer 
required  so  near.  On  the  second  occasion,  he  found  her 
writing  a  letter  more  or  less  blotted  with  her  tears.  When 
it  was  finished,  she  begged  him  to  post  it  at  Indian 
Spring,  where  in  two  days  an  answer  would  be  returned, 
under  cover,  to  him. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  satisfied  then,"  she  added. 

"  Satisfied  with  what  ?  "  queried  the  young  man. 

"  You  '11  see,"  she  replied,  giving  him  her  cold  hand. 
"  Good-night." 

"  But  can't  you  tell  me  now  ?  "  he  remonstrated,  retain- 
ing her  hand. 

"  Wait  two  days  longer  —  it  is  n't  much,"  was  all  she 
vouchsafed  to  answer. 

The  two  days  passed.  Their  former  confidence  and 
good  fellowship  were  fully  restored  when  the  morning 
came  on  which  he  was  to  bring  the  answer  from  the  post- 
office  at  Indian  Spring.  He  had  talked  again  of  his  fu- 
ture, and  had  recorded  his  ambition  to  procure  the  appoint- 
ment  of  naturalist  to  a  Government  Surveying  Expedition. 
She  had  even  jocularly  proposed  to  dress  herself  in  man's 
attire  and  "  enlist "  as  his  assistant. 

"  But  you  will  be  safe  with  your  friends,  I  hope,  by 
that  time,"  responded  Low. 

"  Safe  with  my  friends,"  she  repeated  in  a  lower  voice. 
"  Safe  with  my  friends  —  yes  !  "  An  awkward  silence 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS  59 

followed.  Teresa  broke  it  gayly :  "  But  your  girl,  your 
sweetheart,  my  benefactor  —  will  she  let  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  have  n't  told  her  yet,"  said  Low  gravely,  "  but  I 
don't  see  why  she  should  object." 

"  Object,  indeed ! "  interrupted  Teresa  in  a  high  voice 
and  a  sudden  and  utterly  gratuitous  indignation ;  "  how 
should  she  ?  I  'd  like  to  see  her  do  it !  " 

She  accompanied  him  some  distance  to  the  intersection 
of  the  trail,  where  they  parted  in  good  spirits.  On  the 
dusty  plain  without  a  gale  was  blowing  that  rocked  the 
high  treetops  above  her,  but,  tempered  and  subdued,  en- 
tered the  low  aisles  with  a  fluttering  breath  of  morning 
and  a  sound  like  the  cooing  of  doves.  Never  had  the 
wood  before  shown  so  sweet  a  sense  of  security  from  the 
turmoil  and  tempest  of  the  world  beyond ;  never  before 
had  an  intrusion  from  the  outer  life  —  even  in  the  shape 
of  a  letter  —  seemed  so  wicked  a  desecration.  Tempted 
by  the  solicitation  of  air  and  shade,  she  lingered,  with 
Low's  herbarium  slung  on  her  shoulder. 

A  strange  sensation,  like  a  shiver,  suddenly  passed 
across  her  nerves,. and  left  them  in  a  state  of  rigid  tension. 
With  every  sense  morbidly  acute,  with  every  faculty 
strained  to  its  utmost,  the  subtle  instincts  of  Low's  wood- 
craft transformed  and  possessed  her.  She  knew  it  now  ! 
A  new  element  was  in  the  wood  —  a  strange  being  —  an- 
other life  —  another  man  approaching !  She  did  not  even 
raise  her  head  to  look  about  her,  but  darted  with  the  pre- 
cision and  fleetness  of  an  arrow  in  the  direction  of  her 
tree.  But  her  feet  were  arrested,  her  limbs  paralyzed, 
her  very  existence  suspended,  by  the  sound  of  a  voice :  — 

"  Teresa !  " 

It  was  a  voice  that  had  rung  in  her  ears  for  the  last 
two  years  in  all  phases  of  intensity,  passion,  tenderness, 
and  anger ;  a  voice  upon  whose  modulations,  rude  and 
unmusical  though  they  were,  her  heart  and  soul  had  hung 


60  IN  THE   CAEQUINEZ   WOODS 

in  transport  or  anguish.  But  it  was  a  chime  that  had 
rung  its  last  peal  to  her  senses  as  she  entered  the  Car- 
quinez  Woods,  and  for  the  last  week  had  been  as  dead  to 
her  as  a  voice  from  the  grave.  It  was  the  voice  of  her 
lover  —  Dick  Curson ! 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  wind  was  blowing  towards  the  stranger,  so  that 
he  was  nearly  upon  her  when  Teresa  first  took  the  alarm. 
He  was  a  man  over  six  feet  in  height,  strongly  built,  with 
a  slight  tendency  to  a  roundness  of  bulk  which  suggested 
reserved  rather  than  impeded  energy.  His  thick  beard 
and  mustache  were  closely  cropped  around  a  small  and 
handsome  mouth  that  lisped  except  when  he  was  excited, 
but  always  kept  fellowship  with  his  blue  eyes  in  a  per- 
petual smile  of  half-cynical  good  humor.  His  dress  was 
superior  to  that  of  the  locality  ;  his  general  expression  that 
of  a  man  of  the  world,  albeit  a  world  of  San  Francisco, 
Sacramento,  and  Murderer's  Bar.  He  advanced  towards 
her  with  a  laugh  and  an  outstretched  hand. 

"  You  here  !  "  she  gasped,  drawing  back. 

Apparently  neither  surprised  nor  mortified  at  this  recep- 
tion, he  answered  frankly,  "  Yeth.  You  did  n't  expect  me, 
I  know.  But  Doloreth  showed  me  the  letter  you  wrote 
her,  and  —  well  —  here  I  am,  ready  to  help  you,  with  two 
men  and  a  thpare  horthe  waiting  outside  the  woodth  on  the 
blind  trail." 

"  You  —  you  —  here  ?  "  she  only  repeated. 

Curson  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Yeth.  Of  courth 
you  never  expected  to  thee  me  again,  and  leatht  of  all 
here.  I  '11  admit  that ;  I  '11  thay  I  would  n't  if  I  'd  been 
in  your  plathe.  I  '11  go  further,  and  thay  you  did  n't 
want  to  thee  me  again  —  anywhere.  But  it  all  cometh  to 
the  thame  thing.  Here  I  am  ;  I  read  the  letter  you  wrote 
Doloreth.  I  read  how  you  were  hiding  here,  under 


62  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

Dunn'th  very  nothe,  with  his  whole  pothe  out,  cavorting 
round  and  barkin'  up  the  wrong  tree.  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  come  down  here  with  a  few  nathty  friends  of  mine 
and  cut  you  out  under  Dunn'th  nothe,  and  run  you  over 
into  Yuba  — that  'th  all." 

"  How  dared  she  show  you  my  letter  —  you  of  all  men  ? 
How  dared  she  ask  your  help  ?  "  continued  Teresa  fiercely. 

"  But  she  did  n't  athk  my  help,"  he  responded  coolly. 
"  D— d  if  I  don't  think  she  jutht  calculated  I  'd  be  glad  to 
know  you  were  being  hunted  down  and  thtarving,  that  I 
might  put  Dunn  on  your  track." 

"  You  lie ! "  said  Teresa  furiously ;  "  she  was  my 
friend.  A  better  friend  than  those  who  professed  — 
more"  she  added,  with  a  contemptuous  drawing  away  of 
her  skirt  as  if  she  feared  Curson's  contamination. 

"  All  right.  Thettle  that  with  her  when  you  go  back," 
continued  Curson  philosophically.  "  We  can  talk  of  that 
on  the  way.  The  thing  now  ith  to  get  up  and  get  out  of 
thethe  woods.  Come  !  " 

Teresa's  only  reply  was  a  gesture  of  scorn. 

"  I  know  all  that,"  continued  Curson  half  soothingly, 
"  but  they  're  waiting." 

"  Let  them  wait.     I  shall  not  go." 

"  What  will  you  do  ?  " 

"  Stay  here  —  till  the  wolves  eat  me." 

"  Teresa,  listen.  D —  it  all  —  Teresa  !  —  Tita  !  see 
here,"  he  said  with  sudden  energy.  "  I  swear  to  God  it 's 
all  .right.  I'm  willing  to  let  bygones  be  bygones  and 
take  a  new  deal.  You  shall  come  back  as  if  nothing  had 
happened,  and  take  your  old  place  as  before.  I  don't 
mind  doing  the  square  thing,  all  round.  If  that 's  what 
you  mean,  if  that 's  all  that  stands  in  the  way,  why,  IOOK 
upon  the  thing  as  settled.  There,  Tita,  old  girl,  come." 

Careless  or  oblivious  of  her  stony  silence  and  staring 
eyes,  he  attempted  to  take  her  hand.  But  she  disengaged 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS  63 

herself  with  a  quick  movement,  drew  back,  and  suddenly 
crouched  like  a  wild  animal  about  to  spring.  Curson 
folded  his  arms  as  she  leaped  to  her  feet ;  the  little  dagger 
she  had  drawn  from  her  garter  flashed  menacingly  in  the 
air,  but  she  stopped. 

The  man  before  her  remained  erect,  impassive,  and 
silent ;  the  great  trees  around  and  beyond  her  remained 
erect,  impassive,  and  silent ;  there  was  no  sound  in  the 
dim  aisles  but  the  quick  panting  of  her  mad  passion,  no 
movement  in  the  calm,  motionless  shadow  but  the  trem- 
bling of  her  uplifted  steel.  Her  arm  bent  and  slowly 
sank,  her  fingers  relaxed,  the  knife  fell  from  her  hand. 

11  That  'th  quite  enough  for  a  thow,"  he  said,  with  a 
return  to  his  former  cynical  ease  and  a  perceptible  tone 
of  relief  in  his  voice.  "  It  'th  the  thame  old  Teretha. 
Well,  then,  if  you  won't  go  with  me,  go  without  me  ;  take 
the  led  horthe  and  cut  away.  Dick  Athley  and  Peterth 
will  follow  you  over  the  county  line.  If  you  want  thome 
money,  there  it  ith."  He  took  a  buckskin  purse  from  his 
pocket.  "  If  you  won't  take  it  from  me  "  —  he  hesitated 
as  she  made  no  reply  —  "Athley  'th  flush  and  ready  to 
lend  you  thome." 

She  had  not  seemed  to  hear  him,  but  had  stooped  in 
some  embarrassment,  picked  up  the  knife  and  hastily  hid 
it,  then  with  averted  face  and  nervous  fingers  was  begin- 
ning to  tear  strips  of  loose  bark  from  the  nearest  trunk. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  thay  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  any  money,  and  I  shall  stay  here."  She 
hesitated,  looked  around  her,  and  then  added,  with  an 
effort,  "  I  suppose  you  meant  well.  Be  it  so  !  Let  by- 
gones be  bygones.  You  said  just  now,  'It's  the  same 
old  Teresa.'  So  she  is,  and  seeing  she  's  the  same  she  's 
better  here  than  anywhere  else." 

There  was  enough  bitterness  in  her  tone  to  call  for 
Curson's  half-perfunctory  sympathy. 


64  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS 

"  That  be  d — d,"  he  responded  quickly.  "  Jutht  thay 
you  '11  come,  Tita,  and  "  — 

She  stopped  his  half-spoken  sentence  with  a  negative 
gesture.  "  You  don't  understand.  I  shall  stay  here." 

"  But  even  if  they  don't  theek  you  here,  you  can't  live 
here  forever.  The  friend  that  you  wrote  about  who  wath 
tho  good  to  you,  you  know,  can't  keep  you  here  alwayth  ; 
and  are  you  thure  you  can  alwayth  trutht  her  ?  " 

"  It  is  n't  a  woman  —  it 's  a  man."  She  stopped  short, 
and  colored  to  the  line  of  her  forehead.  "  Who  said  it 
was  a  woman  ?  "  she  continued  fiercely,  as  if  to  cover  her 
confusion  with  a  burst  of  gratuitous  anger.  "  Is  that  an- 
other of  your  lies  ?  " 

Curson's  lips,  which  for  a  moment  had  completely  lost 
their  smile,  were  now  drawn  together  in  a  prolonged 
whistle.  He  gazed  curiously  at  her  gown,  at  her  hat,  at 
the  bow  of  bright  ribbon  that  tied  her  black  hair,  and  said, 
"Ah!" 

"A  poor  man  who  has  kept  my  secret,"  she  went  on 
hurriedly ;  "  a  man  as  friendless  and  lonely  as  myself. 
Yes,"  disregarding  Curson's  cynical  smile,  "  a  man  who 
has  shared  everything  "  — 

"Naturally,"  suggested  Curson. 

"  And  turned  himself  out  of  his  only  shelter  to  give  me 
a  roof  and  covering,"  she  continued  mechanically,  strug- 
gling with  the  new  and  horrible  fancy  that  his  words 
awakened. 

"  And  thlept  every  night  at  Indian  Thpring  to  save  your 
reputation,"  said  Curson.  "Of  courthe." 

Teresa  turned  very  white.  Curson  was  prepared  for  an 
outburst  of  fury  —  perhaps  even  another  attack.  But  the 
crushed  and  beaten  woman  only  gazed  at  him  with  fright- 
ened and  imploring  eyes.  "  For  God's  sake,  Dick,  don't 
say  that ! " 

The    amiable    cynic    was    staggered.     His    good   humor 


IN   THE   CA.RQTJINEZ  WOODS  65 

and  a  certain  chivalrous  instinct  lie  could  not  repress  got 
the  better  of  him.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  What 
I  thay  and  what  you  do,  Teretha,  needn't  make  us  quar- 
rel. I  've  no  claim  on  you  —  I  know  it.  Only  "  —  a 
vivid  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  powerful  in  men  of  his 
stamp,  completed  her  victory  — "  only  don't  thay  any- 
thing about  my  coming  down  here  to  cut  you  out  from 
the  —  the  —  the  sheriff."  He  gave  utterance  to  a  short 
but  unaffected  laugh,  made  a  slight  grimace,  and  turned 
to  go. 

Teresa  did  not  join  in  his  mirth.  Awkward  as  it  would 
have  been  if  he  had  taken  a  severer  view  of  the  subject, 
she  was  mortified  even  amidst  her  fears  and  embarrassment 
at  his  levity.  Just  as  she  had  become  convinced  that  his 
jealousy  had  made  her  over-conscious,  his  apparent  good- 
humored  indifference  gave  that  over-consciousness  a  guilty 
significance.  Yet  this  was  lost  in  her  sudden  alarm  as  her 
companion,  looking  up,  uttered  an  exclamation,  and  placed 
his  hand  upon  his  revolver.  With  a  sinking  conviction 
that  the  climax  had  come,  Teresa  turned  her  eyes.  From 
the  dim  aisles  beyond,  Low  was  approaching.  The  catas- 
trophe seemed  complete. 

She  had  barely  time  to  utter  an  imploring  whisper :  "  In 
the  name  of  God,  not  a  word  to  him."  But  a  change  had 
already  come  over  her  companion.  It  was  no  longer  a  par- 
ley with  a  foolish  woman ;  he  had  to  deal  with  a  man  like 
himself.  As  Low's  dark  face  and  picturesque  figure  came 
nearer,  Mr.  Curson's  proposed  method  of  dealing  with  him 
was  made  audible. 

"Ith  it  a  mulatto  or  a  Thircuth,  or  both  ?"  he  asked, 
with  affected  anxiety. 

Low's  Indian  phlegm  was  impervious  to  such  assault. 
He  turned  to  Teresa,  without  apparently  noticing  her  com- 
panion. "  I  turned  back,"  he  said  quietly,  "  as  soon  as  I 
knew  there  were  strangers  here ;  I  thought  you  might  need 


66  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS 

me."  She  noticed  for  the  first  time  that,  in  addition  to  his 
rifle,  he  carried  a  revolver  and  hunting-knife  in  his  belt. 

"  Yeth,"  returned  Curson,  with  an  ineffectual  attempt  to 
imitate  Low's  phlegm ;  "  but  ath  I  did  n't  happen  to  be  a 
sthranger  to  thith  lady,  perhaps  it  wath  n't  nethethary, 
particularly  ath  I  had  two  friends  "  — 

"  Waiting  at  the  edge  of  the  wood  with  a  led  horse," 
interrupted  Low,  without  addressing  him,  but  apparently 
continuing  his  explanation  to  Teresa.  But  she  turned  to 
Low  with  feverish  anxiety. 

"  That 's  so  —  he  is  an  old  friend  "  —  she  gave  a  quick, 
imploring  glance  at  Curson  —  "an  old  friend  who  came  to 
help  me  away  —  he  is  very  kind,"  she  stammered,  turning 
alternately  from  the  one  to  the  other  ;  "  but  I  told  him  there 
was  no  hurry  —  at  least  to-day  —  that  you  —  were  —  very 
good  —  too,  and  would  hide  me  a  little  longer  until  your 
plan  —  you  know  your  plan,"  she  added,  with  a  look  of 
beseeching  significance  to  Low  —  "  could  be  tried."  And 
then,  with  a  helpless  conviction  that  her  excuses,  motives, 
and  emotions  were  equally  and  perfectly  transparent  to  both 
men,  she  stopped  in  a  tremble. 

"  Perhapth  it  'th  jutht  ath  well,  then,  that  the  gentle- 
man came  thraight  here,  and  did  n't  tackle  my  two  friendth 
when  he  pathed  them,"  observed  Curson  half  sarcastically. 

"  I  have  not  passed  your  friends,  nor  have  I  been  near 
them,"  said  Low,  looking  at  him  for  the  first  time,  with 
the  same  exasperating  calm ;  "  or  perhaps  I  should  not  be 
here  or  they  there.  I  knew  that  one  man  entered  the 
wood  a  few  moments  ago,  and  that  two  men  and  four 
horses  remained  outside." 

"That's  true,"  said  Teresa  to  Curson  excitedly  — 
"  that 's  true.  He  knows  all.  He  can  see  without  look- 
ing, hear  without  listening.  He  —  he  "  —  she  stammered, 
colored,  and  stopped. 

The  two  men  had  faced  each  other.     Curson,  after  his 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS  67 

first  good-natured  impulse,  had  retained  no  wish  to  regain 
Teresa,  whom  he  felt  he  no  longer  loved,  and  yet  who, 
for  that  very  reason  perhaps,  had  awakened  his  chivalrous 
instincts.  Low,  equally  on  his  side,  was  altogether  uncon- 
scious of  any  feeling  which  might  grow  into  a  passion,  and 
prevent  him  from  letting  her  go  with  another  if  for  her 
own  safety.  They  were  both  men  of  a  certain  taste  and 
refinement.  Yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  some  vague  instinct 
of  the  baser  male  animal  remained  with  them,  and  they 
were  moved  to  a  mutually  aggressive  attitude  in  the  pre- 
sence of  the  female. 

One  word  more,  and  the  opening  chapter  of  a  sylvan 
Iliad  might  have  begun.  But  this  modern  Helen  saw  it 
coming,  and  arrested  it  with  an  inspiration  of  feminine 
genius.  Without  being  observed,  she  disengaged  her  knife 
from  her  bosom,  and  let  it  fall  as  if  by  accident.  It  struck 
the  ground  with  the  point  of  its  keen  blade,  bounded,  and 
rolled  between  them.  The  two  men  started,  and  looked  at 
each  other  with  a  foolish  air.  Curson  laughed. 

"  I  reckon  she  can  take  care  of  herthelf,"  he  said,  ex- 
tending his  hand  to  Low.  "  I  'm  off.  But  if  I  'm  wanted 
she'U.  know  where  to  find  me."  Low  took  the  proffered 
hand,  but  neither  of  the  two  men  looked  at  Teresa.  The 
reserve  of  antagonism  once  broken,  a  few  words  of  caution, 
advice,  and  encouragement  passed  between  them,  in  appar- 
ent obliviousness  of  her  presence  or  her  personal  responsi- 
bility. As  Curson  at  last  nodded  a  farewell  to  her,  Low 
insisted  upon  accompanying  him  as  far  as  the  horses,  and 
in  another  moment  she  was  again  alone. 

She  had  saved  a  quarrel  between  them  at  the  sacrifice 
of  herself,  for  her  vanity  was  still  keen  enough  to  feel  that 
this  exhibition  of  her  old  weakness  had  degraded  her  in 
their  eyes,  and,  worse,  had  lost  the  respect  her  late  restraint 
had  won  from  Low.  They  had  treated  her  like  a  child  or 
a  crazy  woman,  perhaps  even  now  were  exchanging  criti- 


68  IN   THE   CAKQUINEZ   WOODS 

cisms  upon  her  —  perhaps  pitying  her  !  Yet  she  had  pre- 
vented  a  quarrel,  a  fight,  possibly  the  death  of  either  one 
or  the  other  of  these  men  who  despised  her,  for  none  better 
knew  than  she  the  trivial  beginning  and  desperate  end  of 
these  encounters.  Would  they  —  would  Low  ever  realize 
it,  and  forgive  her?  Her  small,  dark  hands  went  up  to 
her  eyes,  and  she  sank  upon  the  ground.  She  looked 
through  tear-veiled  lashes  upon  the  mute  and  giant  wit- 
nesses of  her  deceit  and  passion,  and  tried  to  draw,  from 
their  immovable  calm,  strength  and  consolation  as  before. 
But  even  they  seemed  to  stand  apart,  reserved  and  for- 
bidding. 

When  Low  returned  she  hoped  to  gather  from  his  eyes 
and  manner  what  had  passed  between  him  and  her  former 
lover.  But  beyond  a  mere  gentle  abstraction  at  times  he 
retained  his  usual  calm.  She  was  at  last  forced  to  allude 
to  it  herself  with  simulated  recklessness. 

"  I  suppose  I  did  n't  get  a  very  good  character  from  my 
last  place  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  he  replied,  in  evident  sin- 
cerity. 

She  bit  her  lip  and  was  silent.  But  as  they  were  re- 
turning home,  she  said  gently,  "  I  hope  you  were  not 
angry  with  me  for  the  lie  I  told  when  I  spoke  of  '  your 
plan.'  I  could  not  give  the  real  reason  for  not  returning 
with  —  with  —  that  man.  But  it 's  not  all  a  lie.  I  have 
a  plan  —  if  you  have  n't.  When  you  are  ready  to  go  to 
Sacramento  to  take  your  place,  dress  me  as  an  Indian  boy, 
paint  my  face,  and  let  me  go  with  you.  You  can  leave 
me  —  there  — you  know." 

"It's  not  a  bad  idea,"  he  responded  gravely.  "We 
will  see." 

On  the  next  day,  and  the  next,  the  rencontre  seemed  to 
be  forgotten.  The  herbarium  was  already  filled  with  rare 
specimens.  Teresa  had  even  overcome  her  feminine  re- 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS  69 

pugnance  to  "  bugs  "  and  creeping  things  so  far  as  to  assist 
in  his  entomological  collection.  He  had  drawn  from  a 
sacred  cache  in  the  hollow  of  a  tree  the  few  worn  text- 
books from  which  he  had  studied. 

"  They  seem  very  precious,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  Very,"  he  replied  gravely.  "  There  was  one  with 
plates  that  the  ants  ate  up,  and  it  will  be  six  months  be- 
fore I  can  afford  to  buy  another." 

Teresa  glanced  hurriedly  over  his  well-worn  buckskin 
suit,  at  his  calico  shirt  with  its  pattern  almost  obliterated 
by  countless  washings,  and  became  thoughtful. 

"  I  suppose  you  could  n't  buy  one  at  Indian  Spring  ?  " 
she  said  innocently. 

For  once  Low  was  startled  out  of  his  phlegm.  "  Indian 
Spring !  "  he  ejaculated  ;  "  perhaps  not  even  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. These  came  from  the  States." 

"  How  did  you  get  them  ?  "  persisted  Teresa. 

"  I  bought  them  for  skins  I  got  over  the  ridge." 

"  I  did  n't  mean  that  —  but  no  matter.  Then  you  mean 
to  sell  that  bearskin,  don't  you  ?  "  she  added. 

Low  had,  in  fact,  already  sold  it,  the  proceeds  having 
been  invested  in  a  gold  ring  for  Miss  Nellie,  which  she 
scrupulously  did  not  wear  except  in  his  presence.  In  his 
singular  truthfulness  he  would  have  frankly  confessed  it 
to  Teresa,  but  the  secret  was  not  his  own.  He  contented 
himself  with  saying  that  he  had  disposed  of  it  at  Indian 
Spring.  Teresa  started,  and  communicated  unconsciously 
some  of  her  nervousness  to  her  companion.  They  gazed 
in  each  other's  eyes  with  a  troubled  expression. 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  wise  to  sell  that  particular  skin, 
which  might  be  identified  ?  "  she  asked  timidly. 

Low  knitted  his  arched  brows,  but  felt  a  strange  sense 
of  relief.  "  Perhaps  not,"  he  said  carelessly ;  "  but  it 's 
too  late  now  to  mend  matters." 

That  afternoon  she  wrote  several  letters,  and  tore  them 


70  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

up.  One,  however,  she  retained,  and  handed  it  to  Low  to 
post  at  Indian  Spring,  whither  he  was  going.  She  called 
his  attention  to  the  superscription  being  the  same  as  the 
previous  letter,  and  added,  with  affected  gayety,  "But  if 
the  answer  is  n't  as  prompt,  perhaps  it  will  he  pleasanter 
than  the  last."  Her  quick  feminine  eye  noticed  a  little 
excitement  in  his  manner  and  a  more  studious  attention  to 
his  dress.  Only  a  few  days  before  she  would  not  have 
allowed  this  to  pass  without  some  mischievous  allusion  to 
his  mysterious  sweetheart ;  it  troubled  her  greatly  now  to 
find  that  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  this  household 
pleasantry,  and  that  her  lip  trembled  and  her  eye  grew 
moist  as  he  parted. from  her. 

The  afternoon  passed  slowly.  He  had  said  he  might  not 
return  to  supper  until  late;  nevertheless  a  strange  restless- 
ness took  possession  of  her  as  the  day  wore  on.  She  put 
aside  her  work,  —  the  darning  of  his  stockings,  —  and  ram- 
bled aimlessly  through  the  woods.  She  had  wandered  she 
knew  not  how  far,  when  she  was  suddenly  seized  with  the 
same  vague  sense  of  a  foreign  presence  which  she  had  felt 
before.  Could  it  be  Curson  again,  with  a  word  of  warning  ? 
No !  she  knew  it  was  not  he  ;  so  subtle  had  her  sense 
become  that  she  even  fancied  that  she  detected  in  the  in- 
visible aura  projected  by  the  unknown  no  significance  or 
relation  to  herself  or  Low,  and  felt  no  fear.  Nevertheless 
she  deemed  it  wisest  to  seek  the  protection  of  her  sylvan 
bower,  and  hurried  swiftly  thither. 

But  not  so  quickly  nor  directly  that  she  did  not  once  or 
twice  pause  in  her  flight  to  examine  the  new-comer  from 
behind  a  friendly  trunk.  He  was  a  stranger  —  a  young  fel- 
low with  a  brown  mustache,  wearing  heavy  Mexican  spurs 
in  his  riding-boots,  whose  tinkling  he  apparently  did  not 
care  to  conceal.  He  had  perceived  her,  and  was  evidently 
pursuing  her,  but  so  awkwardly  and  timidly  that  she  eluded 
him  with  ease.  When  she  had  reached  the  security  of  the 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  71 

hollow  tree,  and  had  pulled  the  curtain  of  bark  before  the 
narrow  opening,  with  her  eye  to  the  interstices,  she  waited 
his  coming.  He  arrived  breathlessly  in  the  open  space  be- 
fore the  tree  where  the  bear  once  lay ;  the  dazed,  bewil- 
dered, and  half-awed  expression  of  his  face,  as  he  glanced 
around  him  and  through  the  openings  of  the  forest  aisles, 
brought  a  faint  smile  to  her  saddened  face.  At  last  he 
called  in  a  half-embarrassed  voice,  — 

"  Miss  Nellie  !  " 

The  smile  faded  from  Teresa's  cheek.  Who  was  "  Miss 
Nellie  "  ?  She  pressed  her  ear  to  the  opening.  "  Miss 
Wynn ! "  the  voice  again  called,  but  was  lost  in  the  echo- 
less  woods.  Devoured  with  a  new  and*  gratuitous  curiosity, 
in  another  moment  Teresa  felt  she  would  have  disclosed 
herself  at  any  risk,  but  the  stranger  rose  and  began  to 
retrace  his  steps.  Long  after  his  tinkling  spurs  were  lost 
in  the  distance,  Teresa  remained  like  a  statue,  staring  at 
the  place  where  he  had  stood.  Then  she  suddenly  turned 
like  a  mad  woman,  glanced  down  at  the  gown  she  was 
wearing,  tore  it  from  her  back  as  if  it  had  been  a  polluted 
garment,  and  stamped  upon  it  in  a  convulsion  of  rage. 
And  then,  with  her  beautiful  bare  arms  clasped  together 
over  her  head,  she  threw  herself  upon  her  couch  in  a  tem- 
pest of  tears. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHEN  Miss  Nellie  reached  the  first  mining  extension 
of  Indian  Spring,  which  surrounded  it  like  a  fosse,  she 
descended  for  one  instant  into  one  of  its  trenches,  opened 
her  parasol,  removed  her  duster,  hid  it  under  a  boulder, 
and  with  a  few  shivers  and  cat-like  strokes  of  her  soft 
hands  not  only  obliterated  all  material  traces  of  the  stolen 
cream  of  Carquinez  Woods,  but  assumed  a  feline  demure- 
ness  quite  inconsistent  with  any  moral  dereliction.  Unfor- 
tunately, she  forgot  to  remove  at  the  same  time  a  certain 
ring  from  her  third  finger,  which  she  had  put  on  with  her 
duster  and  had  worn  at  no  other  time.  With  this  slight 
exception,  the  benignant  fate  which  always  protected  that 
young  person  brought  her  in  contact  with  the  Burnham 
girls  at  one  end  of  the  main  street  as  the  returning  coach  to 
Excelsior  entered  the  other,  and  enabled  her  to  take  leave 
of  them  before  the  coach-office  with  a  certain  ostentation 
of  parting  which  struck  Mr.  Jack  Brace,  who  was  lingering 
at  the  doorway,  into  a  state  of  utter  bewilderment. 

Here  was  Miss  Nellie  Wynn,  the  belle  of  Excelsior, 
calm,  quiet,  self-possessed,  her  chaste  cambric  skirts  and 
dainty  shoes  as  fresh  as  when  she  had  left  her  father's 
house  ;  but  where  was  the  woman  of  the  brown  duster, 
and  where  the  yellow-dressed  apparition  of  the  woods  ? 
He  was  feebly  repeating  to  himself  his  mental  adjuration 
of  a  few  hours  before  when  he  caught  her  eye,  and  was 
taken  with  a  blush  and  a  fit  of  coughing.  Could  he  have 
been  such  an  egregious  fool,  and  was  it  not  plainly  written 
on  his  embarrassed  face  for  her  to  read  ? 


IN   THE    CARQUINEZ  WOODS  73 

"  Are  we  going  down  together  ? "  asked  Miss  Nellie, 
with  an  exceptionally  gracious  smile. 

There  was  neither  affectation  nor  coquetry  in  this  ad- 
vance. The  girl  had  no  idea  of  Brace's  suspicion  of  her, 
nor  did  any  uneasy  desire  to  placate  or  deceive  a  possible 
rival  of  Low's  prompt  her  graciousness.  She  simply 
wished  to  shake  off  in  this  encounter  the  already  stale 
excitement  of  the  past  two  hours,  as  she  had  shaken  the 
dust  of  the  woods  from  her  clothes.  It  was  characteristic 
of  her  irresponsible  nature  and  transient  susceptibilities 
that  she  actually  enjoyed  the  relief  of  change  ;  more  than 
that,  I  fear,  she  looked  upon  this  infidelity  to  a  past  dubi- 
ous pleasure  as  a  moral  principle.  A  mild,  open  flirtation 
with  a  recognized  man  like  Brace,  after  her  secret  pas- 
sionate tryst  with  a  nameless  nomad  like  Low,  was  an 
ethical  equipoise  that  seemed  proper  to  one  of  her  religious 
education. 

Brace  was  only  too  happy  to  profit  by  Miss  Nellie's 
condescension ;  he  at  once  secured  the  seat  by  her  side, 
and  spent  the  four  hours  and  a  half  of  their  return  journey 
to  Excelsior  in  blissful  but  timid  communion  with  her. 
If  he  did  not  dare  to  confess  his  past  suspicions,  he  was 
equally  afraid  to  venture  upon  the  boldness  he  had  pre- 
meditated a  few  hours  before.  He  was  therefore  obliged 
to  take  a  middle  course  of  slightly  egotistical  narration  of 
his  own  personal  adventures,  with  which  he  beguiled  the 
young  girl's  ear.  This  he  only  departed  from  once,  to 
describe  to  her  a  valuable  grizzly  bearskin  which  he  had 
seen  that  day  for  sale  at  Indian  Spring,  with  a  view  to 
divining  her  possible  acceptance  of  it  for  a  "  buggy  robe  ;  " 
and  once  to  comment  upon  a  ring  which  she  had  inadver- 
tently disclosed  in  pulling  off  her  glove. 

"  It 's  only  an  old  family  keepsake,"  she  added,  with 
easy  mendacity ;  and  affecting  to  recognize  in  Mr.  Brace's 
curiosity  a  not  unnatural  excuse  for  toying  with  her  charm- 


74  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

ing  fingers,  she  hid  them  in  chaste  and  virginal  seclusion 
in  her  lap,  until  she  could  re-cover  the  ring  and  resume  her 
glove. 

A  week  passed  —  a  week  of  peculiar  and  desiccating  heat 
for  even  those  dry  Sierra  table-lands.  The  long  days  were 
filled  with  impalpable  dust  and  acrid  haze  suspended  in  the 
motionless  air ;  the  nights  were  breathless  and  dewless  ; 
the  cold  wind  which  usually  swept  down  from  the  snow 
line  was  laid  to  sleep  over  a  dark  monotonous  level,  whose 
horizon  was  pricked  with  the  eating  fires  of  burning  forest 
crests.  The  lagging  coach  of  Indian  Spring  drove  up  at 
Excelsior,  and  precipitated  its  passengers  with  an  accom- 
panying cloud  of  dust  before  the  Excelsior  Hotel.  As 
they  emerged  from  the  coach,  Mr.  Brace,  standing  in  the 
doorway,  closely  scanned  their  begrimed  and  almost  unre- 
cognizable faces.  They  were  the  usual  type  of  travelers: 
a  single  professional  man  in  dusty  black,  a  few  traders  in 
tweeds  and  flannels,  a  sprinkling  of  miners  in  red  and  gray 
shirts,  a  Chinaman,  a  negro,  and  a  Mexican  packer  or  mule- 
teer. This  latter  for  a  moment  mingled  with  the  crowd  in 
the  bar-room,  and  even  penetrated  the  corridor  and  dining- 
room  of  the  hotel,  as  if  impelled  by  a  certain  semi-civilized 
curiosity,  and  then  strolled  with  a  lazy,  dragging  step  — 
half  impeded  by  the  enormous  leather  leggings,  chains,  and 
spurs,  peculiar  to  his  class  —  down  the  main  street.  The 
darkness  was  gathering,  but  the  muleteer  indulged  in  the 
same  childish  scrutiny  of  the  dimly  lighted  shops,  maga- 
zines, and  saloons,  and  even  of  the  occasional  groups  of 
citizens  at  the  street  corners.  Apparently  young,  as  far  as 
the  outlines  of  his  figure  could  be  seen,  he  seemed  to  show 
even  more  than  the  usual  concern  of  masculine  Excelsior 
in  the  charms  of  womankind.  The  few  female  figures 
about  at  that  hour,  or  visible  at  window  or  veranda,  re- 
ceived his  marked  attention  ;  he  respectfully  followed  the 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  75 

two  auburn-haired  daughters  of  Deacon  Johnson  on  their 
way  to  choir-meeting  to  the  door  of  the  church.  Not.  con- 
tent with  that  act  of  discreet  gallantry,  after  they  had 
entered  he  managed  to  slip  in  unperceived  behind  them. 

The  memorial  of  the  Excelsior  gamblers'  generosity  was 
a  modern  building,  large  and  pretentious  for  even  Mr. 
Wynn's  popularity,  and  had  been  good-humoredly  known, 
in  the  characteristic  language  of  the  generous  donors,  as  one  of 
the  "  biggest  religious  bluffs  "  on  record.  Its  groined  raf- 
ters, which  were  so  new  and  spicy  that  they  still  suggested 
their  native  forest  aisles,  seldom  covered  more  than  a  hundred 
devotees,  and  in  the  rambling  choir,  with  its  bare  space  for 
the  future  organ,  the  few  choristers,  gathered  round  a  small 
harmonium,  were  lost  in  the  deepening  shadow  of  that  summer 
evening.  The  muleteer  remained  hidden  in  the  obscurity 
of  the  vestibule.  After  a  few  moments'  desultory  conversa- 
tion, in  which  it  appeared  that  the  unexpected  absence  of 
Miss  Nellie  Wynn,  their  leader,  would  prevent  their  prac- 
ticing, the  choristers  withdrew.  The  stranger,  who  had  lis- 
tened eagerly,  drew  back  in  the  darkness  as  they  passed 
out,  and  remained  for  a  few  moments  a  vague  and  motion- 
less figure  in  the  silent  church.  Then  coming  cautiously 
to  the  window,  the  flapping  broad-brimmed  hat  was  put 
aside,  and  the  faint  light  of  the  dying  day  shone  in  the 
black  eyes  of  Teresa !  Despite  her  face,  darkened  with 
dye  and  disfigured  with  dust,  the  matted  hair  piled  and 
twisted  around  her  head,  the  strange  dress  and  boyish 
figure,  one  swift  glance  from  under  her  raised  lashes  be- 
trayed her  identity. 

She  turned  aside  mechanically  into  the  first  pew,  picked 
up  and  opened  a  hymn-book.  Her  eyes  became  riveted  on 
a  name  written  on  the  title-page,  "  Nellie  Wynn."  Her 
name,  and  her  book.  The  instinct  that  had  guided  her 
here  was  right ;  the  slight  gossip  of  her  fellow  passengers 
was  right ;  this  was  the  clergyman's  daughter,  whose  praise 


76  IN  THE   CAEQUINEZ   WOODS 

filled  all  mouths.  This  was  the  unknown  girl  the  stranger 
was  seeking,  but  who  in  her  turn  perhaps  had  been  seeking 
Low  —  the  girl  who  absorbed  his  fancy  —  the  secret  of  his 
absences,  his  preoccupation,  his  coldness  !  This  was  the 
girl  whom  to  see,  perhaps  in  his  arms,  she  was  now  periling 
her  liberty  and  her  life,  unknown  to  him  !  A  slight  odor, 
some  faint  perfume  of  its  owner,  came  from  the  book  :  it 
was  the  same  she  had  noticed  in  the  dress  Low  had  given 
her.  She  flung  the  volume  to  the  ground,  and,  throwing 
her  arms  over  the  back  of  the  pew  before  her,  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

In  that  light  and  attitude  she  might  have  seemed  some 
rapt  acolyte  abandoned  to  self-communion.  But  whatever 
yearning  her  soul  might  have  had  for  higher  sympathy  or 
deeper  consolation,  I  fear  that  the  spiritual  tabernacle  of 
Excelsior  and  the  Eev.  Mr.  Wynn  did  not  meet  that  re- 
quirement. She  only  felt  the  dry,  oven-like  heat  of  that 
vast  shell,  empty  of  sentiment  and  beauty,  hollow  in  its 
pretense,  and  dreary  in  its  desolation.  She  only  saw  in  it  a 
chief  altar  for  the  glorification  of  this  girl  who  had  absorbed 
even  the  pure  worship  of  her  companion,  and  converted 
and  degraded  his  sublime  paganism  to  her  petty  creed. 
With  a  woman's  withering  contempt  for  her  own  art  dis- 
played in  another  woman,  she  thought  how  she  herself 
could  have  touched  him  with  the  peace  that  the  majesty  of 
their  woodland  aisles  —  so  unlike  this  pillared  sham  —  had 
taught  her  OAvn  passionate  heart,  had  she  but  dared.  Min- 
gling with  this  imperfect  theology,  she  felt  she  could  have 
proved  to  him  also  that  a  brunette  and  a  woman  of  her  ex- 
perience was  better  than  an  immature  blonde.  She  began  to 
loathe  herself  for  coming  hither,  and  dreaded  to  meet  his 
face.  Here  a  sudden  thought  struck  her.  What  if  he  had 
not  come  here  ?  What  if  she  had  been  mistaken  ?  What  if 
her  rash  interpretation  of  his  absence  from  the  woods  that 
night  was  simple  madness  ?  What  if  he  should  return  —  if 


*IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  77 

he  had  already  returned  ?  She  rose  to  her  feet,  whitening, 
yet  joyful  with  the  thought.  She  would  return  at  once  ; 
what  was  the  girl  to  her  now  ?  Yet  there  was  time  to 
satisfy  herself  if  he  were  at  her  house.  She  had  been  told 
where  it  was ;  she  could  find  it  in  the  dark  ;  an  open  door 
or  window  would  betray  some  sign  or  sound  of  the  occu- 
pants. She  rose,  replaced  her  hat  over  her  eyes,  knotted 
her  flaunting  scarf  around  her  throat,  groped  her  way  to 
the  door,  and  glided  into  the  outer  darkness. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IT  was  quite  dark  when  Mr.  Jack  Brace  stopped  before 
Father  Wynn's  open  door.  The  windows  were  also  invit- 
ingly open  to  the  wayfarer,  as  were  the  pastoral  counsels  of 
Father  Wynn,  delivered  to  some  favored  guest  within,  in  a 
tone  of  voice  loud  enough  for  a  pulpit.  Jack  Brace  paused. 
The  visitor  was  the  convalescent  sheriff,  Jim  Dunn,  who 
had  publicly  commemorated  his  recovery  by  making  his 
first  call  upon  the  father  of  his  inamorata.  The  Eev.  Mr. 
Wynn  had  been  expatiating  upon  the  unremitting  heat 
as  a  possible  precursor  of  forest  fires,  and  exhibiting  some 
catholic  knowledge  of  the  designs  of  a  Deity  in  that  regard, 
and  what  should  be  the  policy  of  the  Legislature,  when  Mr. 
Brace  concluded  to  enter.  Mr.  Wynn  and  the  wounded 
man,  who  occupied  an  armchair  by  the  window,  were  the 
only  occupants  of  the  room.  But  in  spite  of  the  former's 
ostentatious  greeting,  Brace  could  see  that  his  visit  was 
inopportune  and  unwelcome.  The  sheriff  nodded  a  quick, 
impatient  recognition,  which,  had  it  not  been  accompanied 
by  an  anathema  on  the  heat,  might  have  been  taken  as  a 
personal  insult.  Neither  spoke  of  Miss  Nellie,  although  it 
was  patent  to  Brace  that  they  were  momentarily  expecting 
her  —  all  of  which  went  far  to  strengthen  a  certain  waver- 
ing purpose  in  his  mind. 

"  Ah,  ha !  strong  language,  Mr.  Dunn,"  said  Father 
Wynn,  referring  to  the  sheriff's  adjuration  ;  "  but  '  out  of 
the  fullness  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh.'  Job,  sir, 
cursed,  we  are  told,  and  even  expressed  himself  in  vigorous 
Hebrew  regarding  his  birthday.  Ha,  ha !  I  'm  not  op- 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  79 

posed  to  that.  When  I  have  often  wrestled  with  the  spirit 
I  confess  I  have  sometimes  said,  'D — n  you.'  Yes,  sir, 
1 D — n  you.'  " 

There  was  something  so  unutterably  vile  in  the  reverend 
gentleman's  utterance  and  emphasis  of  this  oath  that  the 
two  men,  albeit  both  easy  and  facile  blasphemers,  felt 
shocked  ;  as  the  purest  of  actresses  is  apt  to  overdo  the 
rakishness  of  a  gay  Lothario,  Father  Wynn's  immaculate 
conception  of  an  imprecation  was  something  terrible.  But 
he  added,  "  The  law  ought  to  interfere  with  the  reckless 
use  of  camp-fires  in  the  woods  in  such  weather  by  packers 
and  prospectors." 

"  It  is  n't  so  much  the  work  of  white  men,"  broke  in 
Brace,  "  as  it  is  of  Greasers,  Chinamen,  and  Diggers,  espe- 
cially Diggers.  There's  that  blasted  Low,  ranges  the 
whole  Carquinez  Woods  as  if  they  were  his.  I  reckon  he 
ain't  particular  just  where  he  throws  his  matches." 

"  But  he  's  not  a  Digger ;  he 's  a  Cherokee,  and  only  a 
half-breed  at  that,"  interpolated  Wynn.  "Unless,"  he 
added,  with  the  artful  suggestion  of  the  betrayed  trust  of 
a  too  credulous  Christian,  "  he  deceived  me  in  this  as  in 
other  things." 

In  what  other  things  Low  had  deceived  him  he  did  not 
say ;  but,  to  the  astonishment  of  both  men,  Dunn  growled 
a  dissent  to  Brace's  proposition.  Either  from  some  secret 
irritation  with  that  possible  rival,  or  impatience  at  the  pro- 
longed absence  of  Nellie,  he  had  "  had  enough  of  that  sort 
of  hog-wash  ladled  out  to  him  for  genuine  liquor."  As  to 
the  Carquinez  Woods,  he  [Dunn]  "  did  n't  know  why  Low 
had  n't  as  much  right  there  as  if  he  'd  grabbed  it  under  a 
preemption  law  and  did  n't  live  there."  With  this  hint  at 
certain  speculations  of  Father  Wynn  in  public  lands  for  a 
homestead,  he  added  that  "  if  they  [Brace  and  Wynn]  could 
bring  him  along  any  older  American  settler  than  an  Indian, 
they  might  rake  down  his  [Dunn's]  pile."  Unprepared 


80  IX   THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS 

for  tins  turn  in  the  conversation,  Wynn  hastened  to  explain 
that  he  did  not  refer  to  the  pure  aborigine,  whose  gradual 
extinction  no  one  regretted  more  than  himself,  but  to  the 
mongrel,  who  inherited  only  the  vices  of  civilization. 
"  There  should  be  a  law,  sir,  against  the  mingling  of  races. 
There  are  men,  sir,  who  violate  the  laws  of  the  Most  High 
by  living  with  Indian  women — squaw  men,  sir,  as  they  are 
called." 

Dunn  rose  with  a  face  livid  with  weakness  and  passion. 
"  Who  dares  say  that  ?  They  are  a  d— d  sight  better 
than  sneaking  Northern  Abolitionists,  who  married  their 
daughters  to  buck  niggers  like  "  —  But  a  spasm  of  pain 
withheld  this  Parthian  shot  at  the  politics  of  his  two  com- 
panions, and  he  sank  back  helplessly  in  his  chair. 

An  awkward  silence  ensued.  The  three  men  looked  at 
each  other  in  embarrassment  and  confusion.  Dunn  felt 
that  he  had  given  way  to  a  gratuitous  passion  ;  Wynn  had 
a  vague  presentiment  that  he  had  said  something  that  im- 
periled his  daughter's  prospects ;  and  Brace  was  divided 
between  an  angry  retort  and  the  secret  purpose  already 
alluded  to. 

"  It 's  all  the  blasted  heat,"  said  Dunn,  with  a  forced 
smile,  pushing  away  the  whiskey  which  Wynn  had  osten- 
tatiously placed  before  him. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Wynn  hastily  ;  "  only  it 's  a  pity 
Nellie  ain't  here  to  give  you  her  smelling-salts.  She  ought 
to  be  back  now,"  he  added,  no  longer  mindful  of  Brace's 
presence  ;  "  the  coach  is  over-due  now,  though  I  reckon  the 
heat  made  Yuba  Bill  take  it  easy  at  the  up  grade." 

"  If  you  mean  the  coach  from  Indian  Spring,"  said 
Brace  quietly,  "  it 's  in  already ;  but  Miss  Nellie  did  n't 
come  on  it." 

"  Maybe  she  got  out  at  the  Crossing,"  said  Wynn 
cheerfully  ;  "she  sometimes  does." 

"  She  did  n't  take  the  coach  at  Indian  Spring,"  returned 


IN   THE   CAEQUINEZ   WOODS  81 

Brace,  "  because  I  saw  it  leave,  and  passed  it  on  Buckskin 
ten  minutes  ago,  coming  up  the  hills." 

"  She  's  stopped  over  at  Burnham's,"  said  Wynn  reflec- 
tively. Then,  in  response  to  the  significant  silence  of  his 
guests,  he  added,  in  a  tone  of  chagrin  which  his  forced 
heartiness  could  not  disguise,  "  Well,  boys,  it 's  a  disap- 
pointment all  round  ;  but  we  must  take  the  lesson  as  it 
comes.  I  '11  go  over  to  the  coach-office  and  see  if  she  's 
sent  any  word.  Make  yourselves  at  home  until  I  return." 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  him,  Brace  arose  and 
took  his  hat  as  if  to  go.  With  his  hand  on  the  lock,  he 
turned  to  his  rival,  who,  half-hidden  in  the  gathering  dark- 
ness, still  seemed  unable  to  comprehend  his  ill  luck. 

"  If  you  're  waiting  for  that  bald-headed  fraud  to  come 
back  with  the  truth  about  his  daughter,"  said  Brace  coolly, 
"  you  'd  better  send  for  your  things  and  take  up  your  lodg- 
ings here." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Dunn  sternly. 

"  I  mean  that  she  's  not  at  the  Burnhams' ;  I  mean 
that  he  does  or  does  not  know  where  she  is,  and  that  in 
either  case  he  is  not  likely  to  give  you  information.  But 
I  can." 

«  You  can  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then,  where  is  she  ?  " 

"  In  the  Carquinez  Woods,  in  the  arms  of  the  man  you 
were  just  defending  —  Low,  the  half-breed." 

The  room  had  become  so  dark  that  from  the  road  no- 
thing could  be  distinguished.  Only  the  momentary  sound 
of  struggling  feet  was  heard. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Brace's  voice,  "  and  don't  be  a  fool. 
You  're  too  weak,  and  it  ain't  a  fair  fight.  Let  go  your 
hold.  I  'm  not  lying  —  I  wish  to  God  I  was  !  " 

There  was  a  silence,  and  Brace  resumed,  "  We  've  been 
rivals,  I  know.  Maybe  I  thought  my  chance  as  good  as 


82  IN   THE   CAKQUINEZ   WOODS 

yours.  If  what  I  say  ain't  truth,  we  '11  stand  as  we  stood 
before  ;  and  if  you  're  on  the  shoot,  I  'm  your  man  when 
you  like,  where  you  like,  or  on  sight  if  you  choose.  But  I 
can't  see  another  man  played  upon  as  I  've  been  played 
upon  —  given  dead  away  as  I  have  been.  It  ain't  on  the 
square. 

"  There,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause,  "  that 's  right ; 
now  steady.  Listen.  A  week  ago  that  girl  went  down 
just  like  this  to  Indian  Spring.  It  was  given  out,  like 
this,  that  she  went  to  the  Burnhams'.  I  don't  mind  saying, 
Dunn,  that  I  went  down  myself,  all  on  the  square,  think- 
ing I  might  get  a  show  to  talk  to  her,  just  as  you  might 
have  done,  you  know,  if  you  had  my  chance.  I  did  n't 
come  across  her  anywhere.  But  two  men  that  I  met 
thought  they  recognized  her  in  a  disguise  going  into  the 
woods.  Not  suspecting  anything,  I  went  after  her ;  saw 
her  at  a  distance  in  the  middle  of  the  woods  in  another 
dress  that  I  can  swear  to,  and  was  just  coming  up  to  her 
when  she  vanished  —  went  like  a  squirrel  up  a  tree,  or 
down  like  a  gopher  in  the  ground,  but  vanished." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  Dunn's  voice.  "  And  just  because 
you  were  a  d — d  fool,  or  had  taken  a  little  too  much 
whiskey,  you  thought  "  — 

"  Steady !  That 's  just  what  I  said  to  myself,"  inter- 
rupted Brace  coolly,  "particularly  when  I  saw  her  that 
same  afternoon  in  another  dress,  saying  good-by  to  the 
Burnhams,  as  fresh  as  a  rose  and  as  cold  as  those  snow- 
peaks.  Only  one  thing  —  she  had  a  ring  on  her  finger  she 
never  wore  before,  and  did  n't  expect  me  to  see." 

"  What  if  she  did  ?  She  might  have  bought  it.  I 
reckon  she  has  n't  to  consult  you,"  broke  in  Dunn's  voice 
sternly. 

"  She  did  n't  buy  it,"  continued  Brace  quietly.  "  Low 
gave  that  Jew  trader  a  bearskin  in  exchange  for  it,  and 
presented  it  to  her.  I  found  that  out  two  days  afterwards. 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  83 

I  found  out  that  out  of  the  whole  afternoon  she  spent  less 
than  an  hour  with  the  Burnhams.  I  found  out  that  she 
hought  a  duster  like  the  disguise  the  two  men  saw  her  in. 
I  found  the  yellow  dress  she  wore  that  day  hanging  up  in 
Low's  cabin  —  the  place  where  I  saw  her  go  —  the  rendez- 
vous where  she  meets  him.  Oh,  you  're  listening  are  you  ? 
Stop  !  SIT  DOWN  ! 

"  I  discovered  it  by  accident,"  continued  the  voice  of 
Brace  when  all  was  again  quiet ;  "  it  was  hidden  as  only  a 
squirrel  or  an  Injin  can  hide  when  they  improve  upon  na- 
ture. When  I  was  satisfied  that  the  girl  had  been  in  the 
woods,  I  was  determined  to  find  out  where  she  vanished, 
and  went  there  again.  Prospecting  around,  I  picked  up  at 
the  foot  of  one  of  the  biggest  trees  this  yer  old  memoran- 
dum-book, with  grasses  and  herbs  stuck  in  it.  I  remem- 
bered that  I'd  heard  old  Wynn  say  that  Low,  like  the 
d — d  Digger  that  he  was,  collected  these  herbs  ;  only  he 
pretended  it  was  for  science.  I  reckoned  the  book  was 
his  and  that  he  mightn't  be  far  away.  I  lay  low  and 
waited.  Bimeby  I  saw  a  lizard  running  down  the  root. 
When  he  got  sight  of  me  he  stopped." 

"  D — n  the  lizard !  What 's  that  got  to  do  with  where 
she  is  now  ?  " 

"  Everything.  That  lizard  had  a  piece  of  sugar  in  his 
mouth.  Where  did  it  come  from  ?  I  made  him  drop  it, 
and  calculated  he  'd  go  back  for  more.  He  did.  He 
scooted  up  that  tree  and  slipped  in  under  some  hanging 
strips  of  bark.  I  shoved  'em  aside,  and  found  an  opening 
to  the  hollow  where  they  do  their  housekeeping." 

"  But  you  did  n't  see  her  there  —  and  how  do  you  know 
she  is  there  now  ?  " 

"  I  determined  to  make  it  sure.  When  she  left  to-day, 
I  started  an  hour  ahead  of  her,  and  hid  myself  at  the  edge 
of  the  woods.  An  hour  after  the  coach  arrived  at  Indian 
Spring,  she  came  there  in  a  brown  duster,  and  was  joined 


84  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS 

by  him.  I  'd  have  followed  them,  but  the  d — d  hound  has 
the  ears  of  a  squirrel,  and  though  I  was  five  hundred  yards 
from  him  he  was  on  his  guard." 

"  Guard  be  blessed  !  Was  n't  you  armed  ?  Why  did  n't 
you  go  for  him  ?  "  said  Dunn  furiously. 

"  I  reckoned  I  'd  leave  that  for  you,"  said  Brace  coolly. 
"If  he'd  killed  me, — and  if  he  'd  even  covered  me  with  his 
rifle,  he  'd  be  sure  to  let  daylight  through  me  at  double  the 
distance,  —  I  should  n't  have  been  any  better  off,  nor  you 
either.  If  I  'd  killed  him,  it  would  have  been  your  duty 
as  sheriff  to  put  me  in  jail ;  and  I  reckon  it  would  n't  have 
broken  your  heart,  Jim  Dunn,  to  have  got  rid  of  two  rivals 
instead  of  one.  Hullo  !  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"Going?"  said  Dunn  hoarsely.  "Going  to  the  Car- 
quinez  Woods,  by  God  !  to  kill  him  before  her.  /'ll  risk 
it,  if  you  dare  n't.  Let  me  succeed,  and  you  can  hang  me, 
and  take  the  girl  yourself." 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down.  Don't  be  a  fool,  Jim  Dunn  ! 
You  would  n't  keep  the  saddle  a  hundred  yards.  Did  I 
say  I  would  n't  help  you  ?  No.  If  you  're  willing,  we  '11 
run  the  risk  together,  but  it  must  be  in  my  way.  Hear 
me.  I  '11  drive  you  down' there  in  a  buggy  before  daylight, 
and  we  '11  surprise  them  in  the  cabin  or  as  they  leave  the 
wood.  But  you  must  come  as  if  to  arrest  him  for  some 
offense  —  say,  as  an  escaped  Digger  from  the  Reservation,  a 
dangerous  tramp,  a  destroyer  of  public  property  in  the 
forests,  a  suspected  road  agent,  or  anything  to  give  you 
the  right  to  hunt  him.  The  exposure  of  him  and  Xellie, 
don't  you  see,  must  be  accidental.  If  he  resists,  kill  him 
on  the  spot,  and  nobody  '11  blame  you ;  if  he  goes  peaceably 
with  you,  and  you  once  get  him  in  Excelsior  jail,  when  the 
story  gets  out  that  he 's  taken  the  belle  of  Excelsior  for  his 
squaw,  if  you  'd  the  angels  for  your  posse  you  could  n't 
keep  the  boys  from  hanging  him  to  the  first  tree.  What 's 
that  ?  » 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS  85 

He  walked  to  the  window,  and  looked  out  cautiously. 

"  If  it  was  the  old  man  coming  back  and  listening,"  he 
said,  after  a  pause,  "  it  can't  be  helped.  He  '11  hear  it  soon 
enough,  if  he  don't  suspect  something  already." 

"Look  yer,  Brace,"  broke  in  Dunn  hoarsely.  "D — d 
if  I  understand  you,  or  you  me.  That  dog  Low  has  got 
to  answer  to  me,  not  to  the  law !  I  '11  take  my  risk  of 
killing  him,  on  sight  and  on  the  square.  I  don't  reckon 
to  handicap  myself  with  a  warrant,  and  I  am  not  going 
to  draw  him  out  with  a  lie.  You  hear  me  ?  That 's  me 
all  the  time  !  " 

"  Then  you  calkilate  to  go  down  thar,"  said  Brace  con- 
temptuously, "  yell  out  for  him  and  Nellie,  and  let  him  line 
you  on  a  rest  from  the  first  tree  as  if  you  were  a  grizzly." 

There  was  a  pause.  "  What 's  that  you  were  saying 
just  now  about  a  bearskin  he  sold  ?  "  asked  Dunn  slowly, 
as  if  reflecting. 

"  He  exchanged  a  bearskin,"  replied  Brace,  "  with  a 
single  hole  right  over  the  heart.  He 's  a  dead-shot,  I  tell 
you." 

"  D — n  his  shooting,"  said  Dunn.  "  I  'm  not  thinking 
of  that.  How  long  ago  did  he  bring  in  that  bearskin  ?  " 

"  About  two  weeks,  I  reckon.     Why  ?  " 

"  Nothing  !  Look  yer,  Brace,  you  mean  well  —  thar 's 
my  hand.  I  '11  go  down  with  you  there,  but  not  as  the 
sheriff.  I  'm  going  there  as  Jim  Dunn,  and  you  can 
come  along  as  a  white  man,  to  see  things  fixed  on  the 
square.  Come  !  " 

Brace  hesitated.  "  You  '11  think  better  of  my  plan  before 
you  get  there  ;  but  I  've  said  I  'd  stand  by  you,  and  I  will. 
Come,  then.  There  's  no  time  to  lose." 

They  passed  out  into  the  darkness  together. 

"  What  are  you  waiting  for  ?  "  said  Dunn  impatiently, 
as  Brace,  who  was  supporting  him  by  the  arm,  suddenly 
halted  at  the  corner  of  the  house. 


86  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

"  Some  one  was  listening  —  did  you  not  see  him  ?  Was 
it  the  old  man  ?  "  asked  Brace  hurriedly. 

"  Blast  the  old  man  !  It  was  only  one  of  them  Mexican 
packers  chock-full  of  whiskey,  and  trying  to  hold  up  the 
house.  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  We  shall  be  late." 

In  spite  of  his  weakness,  the  wounded  man  hurriedly 
urged  Brace  forward,  until  they  reached  the  latter's  lodg- 
ings. To  his  surprise,  the  horse  and  buggy  were  already 
before  the  door. 

"  Then  you  reckoned  to  go,  anyway  ? "  said  Dunn, 
with  a  searching  look  at  his  companion. 

"  I  calkilated  somebody  would  go,"  returned  Brace 
evasively,  patting  the  impatient  Buckskin  ;  "  but  come  in 
and  take  a  drink  before  we  leave." 

Dunn  started  out  of  a  momentary  abstraction,  put  his 
hand  on  his  hip,  and  mechanically  entered  the  house. 
They  had  scarcely  raised  the  glasses  to  their  lips  when  a 
sudden  rattle  of  wheels  was  heard  in  the  street.  Brace 
set  down  his  glass  and  ran  to  the  window. 

"  It 's  the  mare  bolted,"  he  said,  with  an  oath.  "  We  've 
kept  her  too  long  standing.  Follow  me  ;  "  and  he  dashed 
down  the  staircase  into  the  street.  Dunn  followed  with 
difficulty  ;  when  he  reached  the  door  he  was  confronted  by 
his  breathless  companion.  "  She  's  gone  off  on  a  run,  and 
I'll  swear  there  was  a  man  in  the  buggy  !  "  He  stopped 
and  examined  the  halter-strap,  still  fastened  to  the  fence. 
"  Cut !  by  God  !  " 

Dunn  turned  pale  with  passion.  "  Who 's  got  another 
horse  and  buggy  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  The  new  blacksmith  in  Main  Street ;  but  we  won't  get 
it  by  borrowing,"  said  Brace. 

"  How,  then  ?  "  asked  Dunn  savagely. 

"  Seize  it,  as  the  sheriff  of  Yuba  and  his  deputy,  pursu- 
ing a  confederate  of  the  Injin  Low — 'THE  HORSE-THIEF  !  " 


CHAPTEE  VIII 

THE  brief  hour  of  darkness  that  preceded  the  dawn  was 
that  night  intensified  by  a  dense  smoke,  which,  after  blot- 
ting out  horizon  and  sky,  dropped  a  thick  veil  on  the  high- 
road and  the  silent  streets  of  Indian  Spring.  As  the  buggy 
containing  Sheriff  Dunn  and  Brace  dashed  through  the 
obscurity,  Brace  suddenly  turned  to  his  companion. 

"  Some  one  ahead  !  " 

The  two  men  bent  forward  over  the  dashboard.  Above 
the  steady  plunging  of  their  own  horsehoofs  they  could  hear 
the  quicker,  irregular  beat  of  other  hoofs  in  the  darkness 
before  them. 

"  It 's  that  horse-thief  !  "  said  Dunn,  in  a  savage  whisper. 
"  Bear  to  the  right,  and  hand  me  the  whip. " 

A  dozen  cuts  of  the  cruel  lash,  and  their  maddened 
horse,  bounding  at  each  stroke,  broke  into  a  wild  canter. 
The  frail  vehicle  swayed  from  side  to  side  at  each  spring  of 
the  elastic  shafts.  Steadying  himself  by  one  hand  on  the 
low  rail,  Dunn  drew  his  revolver  with  the  other.  "  Sing 
out  to  him  to  pull  up,  or  we  '11  fire.  My  voice  is  clean 
gone,"  he  added,  in  a  husky  whisper. 

They  were  so  near  that  they  could  distinguish  the  bulk 
of  a  vehicle  careering  from  side  to  side  in  the  blackness 
ahead.  Dunn  deliberately  raised  his  weapon.  "  Sing 
out !  "  he  repeated  impatiently.  But  Brace,  who  was  still 
keeping  in  the  shadow,  suddenly  grasped  his  companion's 
arm. 

"  Hush  !     It 's  not  Buckskin,"  he  whispered  hurriedly. 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  " 


88  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

(t  Don't  you  see  we  're  gaining  on  him  ?  "  replied  the 
other  contemptuously.  Dunn  grasped  his  companion's  hand 
and  pressed  it  silently.  Even  in  that  supreme  moment  this 
horseman's  tribute  to  the  fugitive  Buckskin  forestalled  all 
baser  considerations  of  pursuit  and  capture ! 

In  twenty  seconds  they  were  abreast  of  the  stranger, 
crowding  his  horse  and  buggy  nearly  into  the  ditch  ;  Brace 
keenly  watchful,  Dunn  suppressed  and  pale.  In  half  a 
minute  they  were  leading  him  a  length  ;  and  when  their 
horse  again  settled  down  to  his  steady  work,  the  stranger 
was  already  lost  in  the  circling  dust  that  followed  them. 
But  the  victors  seemed  disappointed.  The  obscurity  had 
completely  hidden  all  but  the  vague  outlines  of  the  myste- 
rious driver. 

"  He  's  not  our  game,  anyway,"  whispered  Dunn. 
"  Drive  on." 

"But  if  it  was  some  friend  of  his,"  suggested  Brace 
uneasily,  "  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  What  I  said  I  'd  do,"  responded  Dunn  savagely.  "  I 
don't  want  five  minutes  to  do  it  in  either ;  we  '11  be  half 
an  hour  ahead  of  that  d — d  fool,  whoever  he  is.  Look 
here ;  all  you  've  got  to  do  is  to  put  me  in  the  trail  to  that 
cabin.  Stand  back  of  me,  out  of  gunshot,  alone,  if  you 
like,  as  my  deputy,  or  with  any  number  you  can  pick  up  as 
my  posse.  If  he  gets  by  me  as  Nellie's  lover,  you  may 
shoot  him  or  take  him  as  a  horse-thief,  if  you  like." 

"  Then  you  won't  shoot  him  on  sight  ?  " 

"  Not  till  I  've  had  a  word  with  him." 

«  But "  — 

"  I  've  chirped,"  said  the  sheriff  gravely.     "  Drive  on." 

For  a  few  moments  only  the  plunging  hoofs  and  rattling 
wheels  were  heard.  A  dull,  lurid  glow  began  to  define  the 
horizon.  They  were  silent  until  an  abatement  of  the 
smoke,  the  vanishing  of  the  gloomy  horizon  line,  and  a 
certain  impenetrability  in  the  darkness  ahead  showed  them 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  89 

they  were  nearing  the  Carquinez  Woods.  But  they  were 
surprised  on  entering  them  to  find  the  dim  aisles  alight 
with  a  faint  mystic  aurora.  The  tops  of  the  towering 
spires  above  them  had  caught  the  gleam  of  the  distant  forest 
fires,  and  reflected  it  as  from  a  gilded  dome. 

"  It  would  be  hot  work  if  the  Carquinez  Woods  should 
conclude  to  take  a  hand  in  this  yer  little  game  that 's  going 
on  over  on  the  Divide  yonder,"  said  Brace,  securing  his 
horse  and  glancing  at  the  spires  overhead.  "  I  reckon  I  'd 
rather  take  a  back  seat  at  Injin  Spring  when  the  show 
commences." 

Dunn  did  not  reply,  but,  buttoning  his  coat,  placed  one 
hand  on  his  companion's  shoulder,  and  sullenly  bade  him 
"lead  the  way."  Advancing  slowly  and  with  difficulty, 
the  desperate  man  might  have  been  taken  for  a  peaceful 
invalid  returning  from  an  early  morning  stroll.  His  right 
hand  was  buried  thoughtfully  in  the  side  pocket  of  his  coat. 
Only  Brace  knew  that  it  rested  on  the  handle  of  his  pistol. 

From  time  to  time  the  latter  stopped  and  consulted  the 
faint  trail  with  a  minuteness  that  showed  recent  careful 
study.  Suddenly  he  paused.  "  I  made  a  blaze  hereabouts 
to  show  where  to  leave  the  trail.  There  it  is,"  he  added, 
pointing  to  a  slight  notch  cut  in  the  trunk  of  an  adjoining 
tree. 

"But  we've  just  passed  one,"  said  Dunn,  "if  that's 
what  you  are  looking  after,  a  hundred  yards  back." 

Brace  uttered  an  oath,  and  ran  back  in  the  direction 
signified  by  his  companion.  Presently  he  returned  with  a 
smile  of  triumph. 

"  They  've  suspected  something.  It 's  a  clever  trick,  but 
it  won't  hold  water.  That  blaze  which  was  done  to  muddle 
you  was  cut  with  an  axe ;  this  which  I  made  was  done  with 
a  bowie-knife.  It 's  the  real  one.  We  're  not  far  off  now. 
Come  on." 

They  proceeded    cautiously,  at    right    angles    with    the 


90  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

"  blazed  "  tree,  for  ten  minutes  more.  The  heat  was  op- 
pressive ;  drops  of  perspiration  rolled  from  the  forehead  of 
the  sheriff,  and  at  times,  when  he  attempted  to  steady  his 
uncertain  limbs,  his  hands  shrank  from  the  heated,  blister- 
ing bark  he  touched  with  ungloved  palms. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Brace,  pausing  at  last.  "  Do  you 
see  that  biggest  tree,  with  the  root  stretching  out  halfway 
across  to  the  opposite  one  ?  " 

"  No  ;  it 's  further  to  the  right  and  abreast  of  the  dead 
brush,"  interrupted  Dunn  quickly,  with  a  sudden  revela- 
tion that  this  was  the  spot  where  he  had  found  the  dead 
bear,  the  night  Teresa  escaped. 

"  That 's  so,"  responded  Brace,  in  astonishment. 

"And  the  opening  is  on  the  other  side,  opposite  the 
dead  brush,"  said  Dunn. 

"  Then  you  know  it  ?  "  said  Brace  suspiciously. 

"  I  reckon  !  "  responded  Dunn  grimly.  "  That 's  enough  ! 
Fall  back !  " 

To  the  surprise  of  his  companion,  he  lifted  his  head 
erect,  and  with  a  strong,  firm  step  walked  directly  to  the 
tree.  Eeaching  it,  he  planted  himself  squarely  before  the 
opening. 

"  Halloo  !  "  he  said. 

There  was  no  reply.  A  squirrel  scampered  away  close 
to  his  feet.  Brace,  far  in  the  distance,  after  an  ineffectual 
attempt  to  distinguish  his  companion  through  the  interven- 
ing trunks,  took  off  his  coat,  leaned  against  a  tree,  and  lit  a 
cigar. 

"  Come  out  of  that  cabin  !  "  continued  Dunn,  in  a  clear, 
resonant  voice.  "  Come  out  before  I  drag  you  out !  " 

"  All  right,  '  Captain  Scott.'  Don't  shoot,  and  I  '11  come 
down,"  said  a  voice  as  clear  and  as  high  as  his  own.  The 
hanging  strips  of  bark  were  dashed  aside,  and  a  woman 
leaped  lightly  to  the  ground. 

Dunn  staggered  back.     "Teresa  !  by  the  Eternal !  " 


IN   THE   CAEQUINEZ  WOODS  91 

It  was  Teresa,  —  the  old  Teresa  !  —  Teresa,  a  hundred 
times  more  vicious,  reckless,  hysterical,  extravagant,  and 
outrageous  than  before,  —  Teresa,  staring  with  tooth  and 
eye,  sunburnt  and  embrowned,  her  hair  hanging  down 
her  shoulders,  and  her  shawl  drawn  tightly  around  her 
neck. 

"  Teresa  it  is  !  the  same  old  gal !  Here  we  are  again  ! 
Return  of  the  favorite  in  her  original  character  !  For  two 
weeks  only  !  Houp  Ik  !  Tshk  !  "  and,  catching  her  yellow 
skirt  with  her  fingers,  she  pirouetted  before  the  astounded 
man,  and  ended  in  a  pose.  Recovering  himself  with 
an  effort,  Dunn  dashed  forward  and  seized  her  by  the 
wrist. 

"  Answer  me,  woman  !     Is  that  Low's  cabin  ?  " 

"  It  is." 

"  Who  occupies  it  besides  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  And  who  else  ?  " 

"  Well,"  drawled  Teresa  slowly,  with  an  extravagant  affec- 
tation of  modesty,  "  nobody  else  but  us,  I  reckon.  Two 's 
company,  you  know,  and  three  's  none." 

"  Stop !  Will  you  swear  that  there  is  n't  a  young  girl, 
his  —  his  sweetheart  —  concealed  there  with  you  ?  " 

The  fire  in  Teresa's  eye  was  genuine  as  she  answered 
steadily,  "  Well,  it  ain't  my  style  to  put  up  with  that  sort 
of  thing  ;  at  least,  it  was  n't  over  at  Yolo,  and  you  know 
it,  Jim  Dunn,  or  I  would  n't  be  here." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Dunn  hurriedly.  "  But  I  'm  a  d— d 
fool,  or  worse,  the  fool  of  a  fool.  Tell  me,  Teresa,  is  this 
man  Low  your  lover  ?  " 

Teresa  lowered  her  eyes  as  if  in  maidenly  confusion. 
"  Well,  if  I  'd  known  that  you  had  any  feeling  of  your 
own  about  it  —  if  you  'd  spoken  sooner  " — 

"  Answer  me,  you  devil !  " 

"He  is." 


92  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

"And  he  has  been  with  you  here  —  yesterday  —  to- 
night  ?  " 

"He  has." 

"Enough."  He  laughed  a  weak,  foolish  laugh,  and, 
turning  pale,  suddenly  lapsed  against  a  tree.  He  would 
have  fallen,  but  with  a  quick  instinct  Teresa  sprang  to  his 
side,  and  supported  him  gently  to  a  root.  The  action  over, 
they  both  looked  astounded. 

"  I  reckon  that  was  n't  much  like  either  you  or  me," 
said  Dunn  slowly,  "  was  it  ?  But  if  you  'd  let  me  drop 
then  you  'd  have  stretched  out  the  biggest  fool  in  the  Sier- 
ras." He  paused,  and  looked  at  her  curiously.  "  What 's 
come  over  you  ;  blessed  if  I  seem  to  know  you  now." 

She  was  very  pale  again,  and  quiet  —  that  was  all. 

"  Teresa !  d — n  it,  look  here !  When  I  was  laid  up 
yonder  in  Excelsior  I  said  I  wanted  to  get  well  for  only 
two  things.  One  was  to  hunt  you  down,  the  other  to 
marry  Nellie  Wynn.  When  I  came  here  I  thought  that 
last  thing  could  never  be.  I  came  here  expecting  to  find 
her  here  with  Low,  and  kill  him  —  perhaps  kill  her  too. 
I  never  even  thought  of  you  ;  not  once.  You  might  have 
risen  up  before  me  —  between  me  and  him  —  and  I  'd 
have  passed  you  by.  And  now  that  I  find  it  's  all  a  mis- 
take, and  it  was  you,  not  her,  I  was  looking  for,  why  "  — 

"Why,"  she  interrupted  bitterly,  "you  '11  just  take  me, 
of  course,  to  save  your  time  and  earn  your  salary.  I  'm 
ready." 

"  But,  I  'm  not,  just  yet,"  he  said  faintly.  "  Help  me 
up."  She  mechanically  assisted  him  to  his  feet. 

"  Now  stand  where  you  are,"  he  added,  "  and  don't 
move  beyond  this  tree  till  I  return." 

He  straightened  himself  with  an  effort,  clenched  his  fists 
until  the  nails  were  nearly  buried  in  his  palms,  and  strode 
with  a  firm,  steady  step  in  the  direction  he  had  come.  In 
a  few  moments  he  returned  and  stood  before  her. 


IN   THE   CAKQUINEZ  WOODS  93 

"  I  've  sent  away  my  deputy  —  the  man  who  brought  me 
here,  the  fool  who  thought  you  were  Nellie.  He  knows 
now  he  made  a  mistake.  But  who  it  was  he  mistook  for 
Nellie  he  does  not  know,  nor  shall  ever  know,  nor  shall 
any  living  being  know,  other  than  myself,  And  when  I 
leave  the  wood  to-day  I  shall  know  it  no  longer.  You  are 
safe  here  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  but  I  cannot  screen  you 
from  others  prying.  Let  Low  take  you  away  from  here  as 
soon  as  he  can." 

"  Let  him  take  me  away  ?     Ah,  yes.     For  what  ?  " 

"  To  save  you,"  said  Dunn.  "  Look  here,  Teresa ! 
Without  knowing  it,  you  lifted  me  out  of  hell  just  now  ; 
and  because  of  the  wrong  I  might  have  done  her  —  for  her 
sake,  I  spare  you  and  shirk  my  duty." 

"  For  her  sake  !  "  gasped  the  woman  —  "  for  her  sake  ! 
Oh,  yes!  Goon." 

"  Well,"  said  Dunn  gloomily,  "  I  reckon  perhaps  you  'd 
as  lieve  left  me  in  hell,  for  all  the  love  you  bear  me.  And 
maybe  you  've  grudge  enough  agin  me  still  to  wish  I  'd 
found  her  and  him  together." 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  she  said,  turning  her  head  away. 

"  There,  d — n  it !  I  did  n't  mean  to  make  you  cry. 
Maybe  you  would  n't,  then.  Only  tell  that  fellow  to  take 
you  out  of  this,  and  not  run  away  the  next  time  he  sees  a 
man  coming." 

"  He  did  n't  run,"  said  Teresa,  with  flashing  eyes.  "  I 
—  I  —  I  sent  him  away,"  she  stammered.  Then,  sud- 
denly turning  with  fury  upon  him,  she  broke  out,  "  Run  ! 
Run  from  you  !  Ha,  ha !  You  said  just  now  I  'd  a  grudge 
against  you.  Well,  listen,  Jim  Dunn.  I  'd  only  to  bring 
you  in  range  of  that  young  man's  rifle,  and  you  'd  have 
dropped  in  your  tracks  like  "  — 

"  Like  that  b'ar,  the  other  night,"  said  Dunn,  with  a 
short  laugh.  "  So  that  was  your  little  game  ? "  He 
checked  his  laugh  suddenly  —  a  cloud  passed  over  his  face. 


94  IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

"  Look  here,  Teresa,"  he  said,  with  an  assumption  of  care- 
lessness that  was  as  transparent  as  it  was  utterly  incom- 
patible with  his  frank,  open  selfishness.  "  What  became  of 
that  b'ar  ?  The  skin  —  eh  ?  That  was  worth  something  ?  " 

"  Yes,'.'  said  Teresa  quietly.  "  Low  exchanged  it  and 
got  a  ring  for  me  from  that  trader  Isaacs.  It  was  worth 
more,  you  bet.  And  the  ring  did  n't  fit  either  "  — 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  Dunn,  with  almost  childish  eagerness. 

"  And  I  made  him  take  it  back,  and  get  the  value  in 
money.  I  hear  that  Isaacs  sold  it  again  and  made  another 
profit ;  but  that 's  like  those  traders."  The  disingenuous 
candor  of  Teresa's  manner  was  in  exquisite  contrast  to 
Dunn.  He  rose  and  grasped  her  hand  so  heartily  she  was 
forced  to  turn  her  eyes  away. 

"  Good-by  !  "  he  said. 

"  You  look  tired,"  she  murmured,  with'  a  sudden  gentle- 
ness that  surprised  him ;  "  let  me  go  with  you  a  part  of  the 
way." 

"  It  is  n't  safe  for  you  just  now,"  he  said,  thinking  of 
the  possible  consequences  of  the  alarm  Brace  had  raised. 

"  Not  the  way  you  came,"  she  replied ;  "  but  one  known 
only  to  myself." 

He  hesitated  only  a  moment.  "  All  right,  then,"  he 
said  finally  ;  "  let  us  go  at  once.  It 's  suffocating  here, 
and  I  seem  to  feel  this  dead  bark  crinkle  under  my  feet." 

She  cast  a  rapid  glance  around  her,  and  then  seemed  to 
sound  with  her  eyes  the  far-off  depths  of  the  aisles,  begin- 
ning to  grow  pale  Avith  the  advancing  day,  but  still  holding 
a  strange  quiver  of  heat  in  the  air.  When  she  had  finished 
her  half-abstracted  scrutiny  of  the  distance,  she  cast  one 
backward  glance  at  her  own  cabin,  and  stopped. 

"  Will  you  wait  a  moment  for  me  ?  "  she  asked  gently. 

"Yes  — but  —  no  tricks,  Teresa!  It  isn't  worth  the 
time." 

She  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes  without  a  word. 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  95 

"  Enough,"  he  said  ;  "  go  !  " 

She  was  absent  for  some  moments.  He  was  beginning 
to  become  uneasy,  when  she  made  her  appearance  again 
clad  in  her  old  faded  black  dress.  Her  face  was  very 
pale,  and  her  eyes  were  swollen,  but  she  placed  his  hand 
on  her  shoulder,  and  bidding  him  not  to  fear  to  lean  upon 
her,  for  she  was  quite  strong,  led  the  way. 

"  You  look  more  like  yourself  now,  and  yet — blast  it 
all !  —  you  don't  either,"  said  Dunn,  looking  down  upon 
her.  "  You  've  changed  in  some  way.  What  is  it  ?  Is 
it  on  account  of  that  Injin  ?  Could  n't  you  have  found  a 
white  man  in  his  place  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  he 's  neither  worse  nor  better  for  that,"  she 
replied  bitterly  ;  "  and  perhaps  he  was  n't  as  particular 
in  his  taste  as  a  white  man  might  have  been.  But,"  she 
added,  with  a  sudden  spasm  of  her  old  rage^,  "  it 's  a  lie ; 
he 's  not  an  Indian,  no  more  than  I  am.  Not  \mless  be- 
ing born  of  a  mother  who  scarcely  knew  him,  of  a  father 
who  never  even  saw  him,  and  being  brought  up  among 
white  men  and  wild  beasts  less  cruel  than  they  were, 
could  make  him  one  !  " 

Dunn  looked  at  her  in  surprise  not  unmixed  with  ad- 
miration. "  If  Nellie,"  he  thought,  "  could  but  love  me 
like  that !  "  But  he  only  said  :  — 

"  For  all  that,  he 's  an  Injin.  Why,  look  at  his  name. 
It  ain't  Low.  It's  L'Eau  Dormante,  Sleeping  Water,  an 
Injin  name." 

"  And  what  does  that  prove  ?  "  returned  Teresa.  "  Only 
that  Indians  clap  a  nickname  on  any  stranger,  white  or 
red,  who  may  cainp  with  them.  Why,  even  his  own  father, 
a  white  man,  the  wretch  who  begot  him  and  abandoned  him, 
—  he  had  an  Indian  name,  —  Loup  Noir." 

"  What  name  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Le  Loup  Noir,  the  Black  Wolf.  I  suppose  you  'd  call 
him  an  Indian,  too  ?  Eh  ?  W^hat  's  the  matter  ?  We  're 


96  IN   THE   CAKQUINEZ  WOODS 

walking  too  fast.  Stop  a  moment  and  rest.  There  — 
there,  lean  on  me  ! " 

She  was  none  too  soon ;  for,  after  holding  him  upright 
a  moment,  his  limbs  failed,  and  stooping  gently  she  was 
obliged  to  support  him  half  reclining  against  a  tree. 

"  It 's  the  heat !  "  he  said.  "  Give  me  some  whiskey 
from  my  flask.  Never  mind  the  water,"  he  added  faintly, 
with  a  forced  laugh,  after  he  had  taken  a  draught  of  the 
strong  spirit.  "  Tell  me  more  about  the  other  water  — 
the  Sleeping  Water,  you  know.  How  do  you  know  all 
this  about  him  and  his  —  father  ?  " 

"  Partly  from  him  and  partly  from  Curson,  who  wrote 
to  me  about  him,"  she  answered,  with  some  hesitation. 

But  Dunn  did  not  seem  to  notice  this  incongruity  of 
correspondence  with  a  former  lover.  "And  he  told  you  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  I  saw  the  name  on  an  old  memorandum- 
book  he  has,  which  he  says  belonged  to  his  father.  It 's 
full  of  old  accounts  of  some  trading-post  on  the  frontier. 
It's  been  missing  for  a  day  or  two,  but  it  will  turn  up. 
But  I  can  swear  I  saw  it." 

Dunn  attempted  to  rise  to  his  feet.  "  Put  your  hand  in 
my  pocket,"  he  said  in  a  hurried  whisper.  "  No,  there  ! 
—  bring  out  a  book.  There,  I  have  n't  looked  at  it  yet. 
Is  that  it  ?  "  he  added,  handing  her  the  book  Brace  had 
given  him  a  few  hours  before. 

"Yes,"  said  Teresa,  in  surprise.    "Where  did  you  find  it?" 

"  Never  mind  !  Now  let  me  see  it  quick.  Open  it,  for 
my  sight  is  failing.  There  —  thank  you  —  that's  all !  " 

"Take  more  whiskey,"  said  Teresa,  with  a  strange 
anxiety  creeping  over  her.  "  You  are  faint  again." 

"  Wait !  Listen,  Teresa  —  lower  — put  your  ear  lower. 
Listen !  I  came  near  killing  that  chap  Low  to-day. 
Would  n't  it  have  been  ridiculous  ?  " 

He  tried  to  smile,  but  his  head  fell  back.  He  had 
fainted. 


CHAPTEE  IX 

FOR  the  first  time  in  her  life  Teresa  lost  her  presence  of 
mind  in  an  emergency.  She  could  only  sit  staring  at  the 
helpless  man,  scarcely  conscious  of  his  condition,  her  mind 
filled  with  a  sudden  prophetic  intuition  of  the  significance 
of  his  last  words.  In  the  light  of  that  new  revelation  she 
looked  into  his  pale,  haggard  face  for  some  resemblance  to 
Low,  hut  in  vain.  Yet  her  swift  feminine  instinct  met  the 
objection.  "  It 's  the  mother's  blood  that  would  show,"  she 
murmured,  "  not  this  man's." 

Eecovering  herself,  she  began  to  chafe  his  hands  and 
temples,  and  moistened  his  lips  with  the  spirit.  When 
his  respiration  returned  with  a  faint  color  to  his  cheeks, 
she  pressed  his  hand  eagerly  and  leaned  over  him. 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Of  what  ?  "  he  whispered  faintly. 

"  That  Low  is  really  your  son  ?  " 

"  Who  said  so  ?  "  he  asked,  opening  his  round  eyes  upon 
her. 

"  You  did  yourself,  a  moment  ago,"  she  said  quickly. 
"Don't  you  remember  ?  " 

"Did  I?" 

"  You  did.     Is  it  so  ?  " 

He  smiled  faintly.      "  I  reckon." 

She  held  her  breath  in  expectation.  But  only  the  ludi- 
crousness  of  .the  discovery  seemed  paramount  to  his  weak- 
ened faculties.  "  Is  n't  it  just  about  the  ridiculousest  thing 
all  round  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  feeble  chuckle.  "  First  you 
nearly  kill  me  before  you  know  I  am  Low's  father ;  then 


98  IN  THE   CAKQUINEZ   WOODS 

I  'm  just  spoilin'  to  kill  him  before  I  know  he  's  my  son ; 
then  that  god-forsaken  fool  Jack  Brace  mistakes  you  for 
Nellie,  and  Nellie  for  you.  Ain't  it  just  the  biggest  thing 
for  the  boys  to  get  hold  of  ?  But  we  must  keep  it  dark 
until  after  I  marry  Nellie,  don't  you  see  ?  Then  we  '11 
have  a  good  time  all  round,  and  I  '11  stand  the  drinks. 
Think  of  it,  Teresha !  You  don'  know  me,  I  do'  know  you, 
nobody  knowsh  anybody  elsh.  I  try  kill  Lo'.  Lo'  wants 
kill  Nellie.  No  thash  no'  ri —  "  But  the  potent  liquor, 
overtaking  his  exhausted  senses,  thickened,  impeded,  and 
at  last  stopped  his  speech.  His  head  slipped  to  her  shoul- 
der, and  he  became  once  more  unconscious. 

Teresa  breathed  again.  In  that  brief  moment  she  had 
abandoned  herself  to  a  wild  inspiration  of  hope  which  she 
could  scarcely  define.  Not  that  it  was  entirely  a  wild  in- 
spiration ;  she  tried  to  reason  calmly.  What  if  she  re- 
vealed the  truth  to  him  ?  What  if  she  told  the  wretched 
man  before  her  that  she  had  deceived  him  ;  that  she  had 
overheard  his  conversation  with  Brace ;  that  she  had 
stolen  Brace's  horse  to  bring  Low  warning  ;  that,  failing  to 
find  Low  in  his  accustomed  haunts  or  at  the  camp-fire, 
she  had  left  a  note  for  him  pinned  to  the  herbarium,  im- 
ploring him  to  fly  with  his  companion  from  the  danger  that 
was  coming;  and  that,  remaining  on  watch,  she  had  seen 
them  both  —  Brace  and  Dunn  —  approaching,  and  had 
prepared  to  meet  them  at  the  cabin  ?  Would  this  miser- 
able and  maddened  man  understand  her  self-abnegation  ? 
Would  he  forgive  Low  and  Nellie  ?  —  she  did  not  ask  for 
herself.  Or  would  the  revelation  turn  his  brain,  if  it  did 
not  kill  him  outright  ?  She  looked  at  the  sunken  orbits  of 
his  eyes  and  hectic  on  his  cheek,  and  shuddered. 

Why  was  this  added  to  the  agony  she  already  suffered  ? 
She  had  been  willing  to  stand  between  them  with  her  life, 
her  liberty,  and  even  —  the  hot  blood  dyed  her  cheek  at 
the  thought  —  with  the  added  shame  of  being  thought  the 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS  99 

cast-off  mistress  of  that  man's  son.  Yet  all  this  she  had 
taken  upon  herself  in  expiation  of  something  —  she  knew 
not  clearly  what ;  no,  for  nothing  —  only  for  him.  And 
yet  this  very  situation  offered  her  that  gleam  of  hope  which 
had  thrilled  her ;  a  hope  so  wild  in  its  improbability,  so 
degrading  in  its  possibility,  that  at  first  she  knew  not 
whether  despair  was  not  preferable  to  its  shame.  And  yet 
was  it  unreasonable  ?  She  was  no  longer  passionate ;  she 
would  be  calm  and  think  it  out  fairly. 

She  would  go  to  Low  at  once.  She  would  find  him 
somewhere  —  and  even  if  with  that  girl,  what  mattered  ?  — 
and  she  would  tell  him  all.  When  he  knew  that  the  life 
and  death  of  his  father  lay  in  the  scale,  would  he  let  his 
brief,  foolish  passion  for  Nellie  stand  in  the  way  ?  Even 
if  he  were  not  influenced  by  filial  affection  or  mere  com- 
passion, would  his  pride  let  him  stoop  to  a  rivalry  with  the 
man  who  had  deserted  his  youth  ?  Could  he  take  Dunn's 
promised  bride,  who  must  have  coquetted  with  him  to  have 
brought  him  to  this  miserable  plight  ?  Was  this  like  the 
calm,  proud  young  god  she  knew  ?  Yet  she  had  an  uneasy 
instinct  that  calm,  proud  young  gods  and  goddesses  did 
things  like  this,  and  felt  the  weakness  of  her  reasoning  flush 
her  own  conscious  cheek. 

"  Teresa !  " 

She  started.  Dunn  was  awake,  and  was  gazing  at  her 
curiously. 

"  I  was  reckoning  it  was  the  only  square  thing  for  Low 
to  stop  this  promiscuous  picnicking  here  and  marry  you  out 
and  out." 

"  Marry  me  !  "  said  Teresa  in  a  voice  that,  with  all  her 
efforts,  she  could  not  make  cynical. 

"  Yes,"  he  repeated,  "  after  I  've  married  Nellie ;  tote 
you  down  to  San  Angeles,  and  there  take  my  name  like  a 
man,  and  give  it  to  you.  Nobody  '11  ask  after  Teresa,  sure 
—  you  bet  your  life.  And  if  they  do,  and  he  can't  stop 


100  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ    WOODS 

their  jaw,  just  you  call  on  the  old  man.  It 's  mighty 
queer,  ain't  it,  Teresa,  to  think  of  you  being  my  daughter- 
in-law  ?  " 

It  seemed  here  as  if  he  was  about  to  lapse  again  into 
unconsciousness  over  the  purely  ludicrous  aspect  of  the  sub- 
ject, but  he  haply  recovered  his  seriousness.  "  He  '11  have 
as  much  money  from  me  as  he  wants  to  go  into  business 
with.  What 's  his  line  of  business,  Teresa  ?  "  asked  this 
prospective  father-in-law,  in  a  large,  liberal  way. 

"  He  is  a  botanist !  "  said  Teresa,  with  a  sudden  child- 
ish animation  that  seemed  to  keep  up  the  grim  humor  of 
the  paternal  suggestion  ;  "  and  oh,  he  is  too  poor  to  buy 
books  !  I  sent  for  one  or  two  for  him  myself  the  other 
day  ! "  —  she  hesitated  —  "  it  was  all  the  money  I  had,  but 
it  was  n't  enough  for  him  to  go  on  with  his  studies." 

Dunn  looked  at  her  sparkling  eyes  and  glowing  cheeks, 
and  became  thoughtful.  "  Curson  must  have  been  a  d — d 
fool,"  he  said  finally. 

Teresa  remained  silent.  She  was  beginning  to  be  im- 
patient and  uneasy,  fearing  some  mischance  that  might 
delay  her  dreaded  yet  longed-for  meeting  with  Low.  Yet 
she  could  not  leave  this  sick  and  exhausted  man,  his  father, 
now  bound  to  her  by  more  than  mere  humanity. 

"  Could  n't  you  manage,"  she  said  gently,  "  to  lean  on 
me  a  few  steps  further,  until  I  could  bring  you  to  a  cooler 
spot  and  nearer  assistance  ?  " 

He  nodded.  She  lifted  him  almost  like  a  child  to  his 
feet.  A  spasm  of  pain  passed  over  his  face.  "  How  far  is 
it?" 

"  Not  more  than  ten  minutes,"  she  replied. 

"  I  can  make  a  spurt  for  that  time,"  he  said  coolly,  and 
began  to  walk  slowly  but  steadily  on.  Only  his  face, 
which  was  white  and  set,  and  the  convulsive  grip  of  his 
hand  on  her  arm,  betrayed  the  effort.  At  the  end  of  ten 
minutes  she  stopped.  They  stood  before  the  splintered, 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  101 

lightning-scarred  shaft  in  the  opening  of  the  woods,  where 
Low  had  huilt  her  first  camp-fire.  She  carefully  picked  up 
the  herbarium,  but  her  quick  eye  had  already  detected  in 
the  distance,  before  she  had  allowed  Dunn  to  enter  the 
opening  with  her,  that  her  note  was  gone.  Low  had  been 
there  before  them  ;  he  had  been  warned,  as  his  absence 
from  the  cabin  showed  ;  he  would  not  return  there.  They 
were  free  from  interruption  —  but  where  had  he  gone  ? 

The  sick  man  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  as  she  seated 
him  in  the  clover-grown  hollow  where  she  had  slept  the 
second  night  of  her  stay.  "  It 's  cooler  than  those  cursed 
woods,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  it 's  because  it 's  a  little  like 
a  grave.  What  are  you  going  to  do  now  ?  "  he  added, 
as  she  brought  a  cup  of  water  and  placed  it  at  his  side. 

"  I  'm  going  to  leave  you  here  for  a  little  while,"  she 
said  cheerfully,  but  with  a  pale  face  and  nervous  hands. 
"  I'm  going  to  leave  you  while  I  seek  Low." 

The  sick  man  raised  his  head.  "  I  'm  good  for  a  spurt, 
Teresa,  like  that  I  've  just  got  through,  but  I  don't  think 
I  'm  up  to  a  family  party.  Could  n't  you  issue  cards  later 
on?" 

"  You  don't  understand,"  she  said.  "  I  'm  going  to  get 
Low  to  send  some  one  of  your  friends  to  you  here.  I 
don't  think  he'll  begrudge  leaving  her  a  moment  for 
that,"  she  added  to  herself  bitterly. 

"  What 's  that  you  're  saying  ?  "  he  queried,  with  the 
nervous  quickness  of  an  invalid. 

"  Nothing  —  but  that  I  'm  going  now."  She  turned 
her  face  aside  to  hide  her  moistened  eyes.  "Wish  me 
good  luck,  won't  you  ?  "  she  asked,  half  sadly,  half  pet- 
tishly. 

"Come  here!" 

She  came  and  bent  over  him.  He  suddenly  raised  his 
hands,  and,  drawing  her  face  down  to  his  own,  kissed  her 
forehead. 


102  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

"  Give  that  to  him"  he  whispered,  "  from  me" 

She  turned  and  fled,  happily  for  her  sentiment,  not 
hearing  the  feeble  laugh  that  followed,  as  Dunn,  in  sheer 
imbecility,  again  referred  to  the  extravagant  ludicrousness 
of  the  situation.  "  It  is  about  the  biggest  thing  in  the 
way  of  a  sell  all  round,"  he  repeated,  lying  on  his  back, 
confidentially  to  the  speck  of  smoke-obscured  sky  above 
him.  He  pictured  himself  repeating  it,  not  to  Nellie  — 
her  severe  propriety  might  at  last  overlook  the  fact,  but 
would  not  tolerate  the  joke  —  but  to  her  father !  It 
would  be  just  one  of  those  characteristic  Calif ornian  jokes 
Father  Wynn  would  admire. 

To  his  exhaustion  fever  presently  succeeded,  and  he 
began  to  grow  restless.  The  heat,  too,  seemed  to  invade 
his  retreat,  and  from  time  to  time  the  little  patch  of  blue 
sky  was  totally  obscured  by  clouds  of  smoke.  He  amused 
himself  with  watching  a  lizard  who '  was  investigating  a 
folded  piece  of  paper,  whose  elasticity  gave  the  little  crea- 
ture lively  apprehensions  of  its  vitality.  At  last  he  could 
stand  the  stillness  of  his  retreat  and  his  supine  position 
no  longer,  and  rolled  himself  out  of  the  bed  of  leaves 
that  Teresa  had  so  carefully  prepared  for  him.  He  rose 
to  his  feet  stiff  and  sore,  and,  supporting  himself  by  the 
nearest  tree,  moved  a  few  steps  from  the  dead  ashes  of 
the  camp-fire.  The  movement  frightened  the  lizard,  who 
abandoned  the  paper  and  fled.  With  a  satirical  recollection 
of  Brace  and  his  "  ridiculous "  discovery  through  the  me- 
dium of  this  animal,  he  stooped  and  picked  up  the  paper. 
"  Like  as  not,"  he  said  to  himself  with  grim  irony,  "  these 
yer  lizards  are  in  the  discovery  business.  P'r'aps  this 
may  lead  to  another  mystery ; "  and  he  began  to  unfold 
the  paper  with  a  smile.  But  the  smile  ceased  as  his  eyes 
suddenly  caught  his  own  name. 

A  dozen  lines  were  written  in  pencil  on  what  seemed  to 
be  a  blank  leaf  originally  torn  from  some  book.  He 


IN  THE   CAEQUINEZ   WOODS  103 

trembled  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  sit  down  to  read  these 
words :  — 

When  you  get  this,  keep  away  from  the  woods.  Dunn 
and  another  man  are  in  deadly  pursuit  of  you  and  your 
companion.  I  overheard  their  plan  to  surprise  you  in  our 
cabin.  Don't  go  there,  and  I  will  delay  them  and  put 
them  off  the  scent.  Don't  mind  me.  God  bless  you  ;  and 
if  you  never  see  me  again,  think  sometimes  of 

TERESA. 

His  trembling  ceased ;  he  did  not  start,  but  rose  in  an 
abstracted  way,  and  made  a  few  deliberate  steps  in  the 
direction  Teresa  had  gone.  Even  then  he  was  so  confused 
that  he  was  obliged  to  refer  to  the  paper  again,  but  with 
so  little  effect  that  he  could  only  repeat  the  last  words, 
"  think  sometimes  of  Teresa."  He  was  conscious  that  this 
was  not  all ;  he  had  a  full  conviction  of  being  deceived, 
and  knew  that  he  held  the  proof  in  his  hand,  but  he  could 
not  formulate  it  beyond  that  sentence.  "  Teresa  "  —  yes, 
he  would  think  of  her.  She  would  think  of  him.  She 
would  explain  it.  And  here  she  was  returning. 

In  that  brief  interval  her  face  and  manner  had  again 
changed.  She  was  pale  and  quite  breathless.  She  cast 
a  swift  glance  at  Dunn  and  the  paper  he  mechanically  held 
out,  walked  up  to  him,  and  tore  it  from  his  hand. 

"  Well,"  she  said  hoarsely,  "  what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it  ?  " 

He  attempted  to  speak,  but  his  voice  failed  him.  Even 
then  he  was  conscious  that  if  he  had  spoken  he  would  have 
only  repeated,  "  think  sometimes  of  Teresa."  He  looked 
longingly  but  helplessly  at  the  spot  where  she  had  thrown 
the  paper,  as  if  it  had  contained  his  unuttered  words. 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on  to  herself,  as  if  he  was  a  mute, 
indifferent  spectator  —  "  yes,  they  're  gone.  That  ends  it 


104  IN   THE   CAKQUINEZ   WOODS 

all.  The  game  's  played  out.  Well !  "  suddenly  turning 
upon  him,  "  now  you  know  it  all.  Your  Nellie  was  here 
with  him,  and  is  with  him  now.  Do  you  hear  ?  Make 
the  most  of  it ;  you  've  lost  them  —  but  here  I  am." 

"  Yes,"  he  said  eagerly —  "  yes,  Teresa." 

She  stopped,  stared  at  him;  then  taking  him  by  the 
hand  led  him  like  a  child  back  to  his  couch.  "Well," 
she  said,  in  half-savage  explanation,  "  I  told  you  the  truth 
when  I  said  the  girl  was  n't  at  the  cabin  last  night,  and 
that  I  did  n't  know  her.  What  are  you  glowerin'  at  ? 
No !  I  have  n't  lied  to  you,  I  swear  to  God,  except  in  one 
thing.  Do  you  know  what  that  was  ?  To  save  him  I  took 
upon  me  a  shame  I  don't  deserve.  I  let  you  think  I  was 
his  mistress.  You  think  so  now,  don't  you  ?  Well,  before 
God  to-day  —  and  He  may  take  me  when  He  likes  —  I  'm 
no  more  to  him  than  a  sister  !  I  reckon  your  Nellie  can't 
say  as  much." 

She  turned  away,  and  with  the  quick,  impatient  stride 
of  some  caged  animal  made  the  narrow  circuit  of  the  open- 
ing, stopping  a  moment  mechanically  before  the  sick  man, 
and  again,  without  looking  at  him,  continuing  her  monot- 
onous round.  The  heat  had  become  excessive,  but  she  held 
her  shawl  with  both  hands  drawn  tightly  over  her  shoulders. 
Suddenly  a  wood-duck  darted  out  of  the  covert  blindly 
into  the  opening,  struck  against  the  blasted  trunk,  fell  half 
stunned  near  her  feet,  and  then,  recovering,  fluttered  away. 
She  had  scarcely  completed  another  circuit  before  the  irrup- 
tion was  followed  by  a  whirring  bevy  of  quail,  a  flight  of 
jays,  and  a  sudden  tumult  of  wings  swept  through  the  wood 
like  a  tornado.  She  turned  inquiringly  to  Dunn,  who  had 
risen  to  his  feet,  but  the  next  moment  she  caught  convul- 
sively at  his  wrist :  a  wolf  had  just  dashed  through  the 
underbrush  not  a  dozen  yards  away,  and  on  either  side  of 
them  they  could  hear  the  scamper  and  rustle  of  hurrying 
feet  like  the  outburst  of  a  summer  shower.  A  cold  wind 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS  105 

arose  from  the  opposite  direction,  as  if  to  contest  this  wild 
exodus,  but  it  was  followed  by  a  blast  of  sickening  heat. 
Teresa  sank  at  Dunn's  feet  in  an  agony  of  terror. 

"Don't  let  them  touch  me!"  she  gasped;  "keep  them 
off!  Tell  me,  for  God's  sake,  what  has  happened!" 

He  laid  his  hand  firmly  on  her  arm,  and  lifted  her  in  his 
turn  to  her  feet  like  a  child.  In  that  supreme  moment  of 
physical  danger,  his  strength,  reason,  and  manhood  returned 
in  their  plenitude  of  power.  He  pointed  coolly  to  the  trail 
she  had  quitted,  and  said  :  — 

"  The  Carquinez  Woods  are  on  fire !  " 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  nest  of  the  tuneful  Burnhams,  although  in  the 
suburbs  of  Indian  Spring,  was  not  in  ordinary  weather 
and  seasons  hidden  from  the  longing  eyes  of  the  youth  of 
that  settlement.  That  night,  however,  it  was  veiled  in 
the  smoke  that  encompassed  the  great  highway  leading  to 
Excelsior.  It  is  presumed  that  the  Burnham  brood  had 
long  since  folded  their  wings,  for  there  was  no  sign  of  life 
nor  movement  in  the  house  as  a  rapidly  driven  horse  and 
buggy  pulled  up  before  it.  Fortunately,  the  paternal  Burn- 
ham  was  an  early  bird,  in  the  habit  of  picking  up  the  first 
stirring  mining  worm,  and  a  resounding  knock  brought  him 
half  dressed  to  the  street  door.  He  was  startled  at  seeing 
Father  Wynn  before  him,  a  trifle  flushed  and  abstracted. 

"  Ah  ha !  up  betimes,  I  see,  and  ready.  No  sluggards 
here  —  ha,  ha  !  "  he  said  heartily,  slamming  the  door  be- 
hind him,  and  by  a  series  of  pokes  in  the  ribs  genially 
backing  his  host  into  his  own  sitting-room.  "  I  'm  up,  too, 
and  am  here  to  see  Nellie.  She 's  here,  eh  —  of  course  ?  " 
he  added,  darting  a  quick  look  at  Burnham. 

But  Mr.  Burnham  was  one  of  those  large,  liberal  West- 
ern husbands  who  classified  his  household  under  the  gen- 
eral title  of  "  woman  folk,"  for  the  integers  of  which  he 
was  not  responsible.  He  hesitated,  and  then  propounded 
over  the  balusters  to  the  upper  story  the  direct  query, 
"  You  don't  happen  to  have  Nellie  Wynn  up  there,  do  ye  ?  " 

There  was  an  interval  of  inquiry  proceeding  from  half 
a  dozen  reluctant  throats,  more  or  less  cottony  and  muf- 
fled, in  those  various  degrees  of  grievance  and  mental 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  107 

distress  which  indicate  too  early  roused  young  womanhood. 
The  eventual  reply  seemed  to  be  affirmative,  albeit  accom- 
panied with  a  suppressed  giggle,  as  if  the  young  lady  had 
just  been  discovered  as  an  answer  to  an  amusing  conun- 
drum. 

"  All  right,"  said  Wynn,  with  an  apparent  accession  of 
boisterous  geniality.  "  Tell  her  I  must  see  her,  and  I  've 
only  got  a  few  minutes  to  spare.  Tell  her  to  slip  on  any- 
thing and  come  down  ;  there  's  no  one  here  but  myself, 
and  I  've  shut  the  front  door  on  Brother  Burnham.  Ha, 
ha  ! "  and  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  actually 
bundled  the  admiring  Brother  Burnham  out  on  his  own 
doorstep.  There  was  a  light  pattering  on  the  staircase, 
and  Nellie  Wynn,  pink  with  sleep,  very  tall,  very  slim, 
hastily  draped  in  a  white  counterpane  with  a  blue  border 
and  a  general  classic  suggestion,  slipped  into  the  parlor. 
At  the  same  moment  the  father  shut  the  door  behind  her, 
placed  one  hand  on  the  knob,  and  with  the  other  seized 
her  wrist. 

"  Where  were  you  yesterday  ?  "  he  asked. 

Nellie  looked  at  him,  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  said, 
"  Here." 

"  You  were  in  the  Carquinez  Woods  with  Low  Dorman ; 
you  went  there  in  disguise  ;  you  've  met  him  there  before. 
He  is  your  clandestine  lover  ;  you  have  taken  pledges  of 
affection  from  him  ;  you  have  "  — 

"  Stop  !  "  she  said. 

He  stopped. 

"  Did  he  tell  you  this  ?  "  she  asked,  with  an  expression 
of  disdain. 

"  No ;  I  overheard  it.  Dunn  and  Brace  were  at  the 
house  waiting  for  you.  When  the  coach  did  not  bring  you, 
I  went  to  the  office  to  inquire.  As  I  left  our  door  I  thought 
I  saw  somebody  listening  at  the  parlor  windows.  It  was 
only  a  drunken  Mexican  muleteer  leaning  against  the 


108  IN  THE  CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

house ;  but  if  he  heard  nothing,  7  did.  Nellie,  I  heard 
Brace  tell  Dunn  that  he  had  tracked  you  in  your  disguise 
to  the  woods  —  do  you  hear  ?  that  when  you  pretended  to 
be  here  with  the  girls  you  were  with  Low  —  alone ;  that 
you  wear  a  ring  that  Low  got  of  a  trader  here  ;  that  there 
was  a  cabin  in  the  woods  "  — 

"  Stop  !  "  she  repeated. 

Wynn  again  paused. 

"  And  what  did  you  do  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  heard  they  were  starting  down  there  to  surprise  you 
and  him  together,  and  I  harnessed  up  and  got  ahead  of 
them  in  my  buggy." 

"  And  found  me  here,"  she  said,  looking  full  into  his 
eyes. 

He  understood  her  and  returned  the  look.  He  recog- 
nized the  full  importance  of  the  culminating  fact  conveyed 
in  her  words,  and  was  obliged  to  content  himself  with  its 
logical  and  worldly  significance.  It  was  too  late  now  to 
take  her  to  task  for  mere  filial  disobedience ;  they  must 
become  allies. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  hurriedly  ;  "  but  if  you  value  your  repu- 
tation, if  you  wish  to  silence  both  these  men,  answer  me 
fully." 

"  Go  on,"  she  said. 

"  Did  you  go  to  the  cabin  in  the  woods  yesterday  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  Did  you  ever  go  there  with  Low  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  do  not  know  even  where  it  is." 

Wynn  felt  that  she  was  telling  the  truth.  Nellie  knew 
it ;  but  as  she  would  have  been  equally  satisfied  with  an 
equally  efficacious  falsehood,  her  face  remained  unchanged. 

"  And  when  did  he  leave  you  ?  " 

"  At  nine  o'clock,  here.     He  went  to  the  hotel." 

"  He  saved  his  life,  then,  for  Dunn  is  on  his  way  to  the 
woods  to  kill  him." 


IN  THE   CAKQUINEZ  WOODS  109 

The  jeopardy  of  her  lover  did  not  seem  to  affect  the 
young  girl  with  alarm,  although  her  eyes  betrayed  some 
interest. 

"  Then  Dunn  has  gone  to  the  woods  ?  "  she  said  thought- 
fully. 

"  He  has,"  replied  Wynn. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  want  to  know  what  you  are  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  back  to  bed." 

"  This  is  no  time  for  trifling,  girl." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  she  said,  with  a  yawn  ;  "  it 's  too 
early  or  too  late." 

Wynn  grasped  her  wrist  more  tightly.  "  Hear  me ! 
Put  whatever  face  you  like  on  this  affair,  you  are  com- 
promised —  and  compromised  with  a  man  you  can't  marry." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  wanted  to  marry  Low,  if  you 
mean  him,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  And  Dunn  would  n't  marry  you  now." 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure  of  that  either." 

"  Nellie,"  said  Wynn  excitedly,  "  do  you  want  to  drive 
me  mad  ?  Have  you  nothing  to  say — nothing  to  suggest  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  want  me  to  help  you,  do  you  ?  Why  did  n't 
you  say  that  first  ?  Well,  go  and  bring  Dunn  here." 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  The  man  has  gone  already  in  pursuit 
of  your  lover,  believing  you  with  him." 

"  Then  he  will  the  more  readily  come  and  talk  with  me 
without  him.  Will  you  take  the  invitation  —  yes  or  no  ?  " 

"Yes,  but" — 

"Enough.  On  your  way  there  you  will  stop  at  the 
hotel  and  give  Low  a  letter  from  me." 

"  Nellie ! » 

"  You  shall  read  it,  of  course,"  she  said  scornfully,  "  for 
it  will  be  your  text  for  the  conversation  you  will  have  with 
him.  Will  you  please  take  your  hand  from  the  lock  and 
open  the  door  ?  " 


110  IN  THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS 

Wynn  mechanically  opened  the  door.  The  young  girl 
flew  upstairs.  In  a  very  few  moments  she  returned  with 
two  notes :  one  contained  a  few  lines  of  formal  invitation 
to  Dunn ;  the  other  read  as  follows  :  — 

DEAK  MR.  DORMAN,  —  My  father  will  tell  you  how 
deeply  I  regret  that  our  recent  botanical  excursions  in 
the  Carquinez  Woods  have  been  a  source  of  serious  mis- 
apprehension to  those  who  had  a  claim  to  my  considera- 
tion, and  that  I  shall  be  obliged  to  discontinue  them  for 
the  future.  At  the  same  time  he  wishes  me  to  express 
my  gratitude  for  your  valuable  instruction  and  assistance 
in  that  pleasing  study,  even  though  approaching  events 
may  compel  me  to  relinquish  it  for  other  duties.  May  I 
beg  you  to  accept  the  inclosed  ring  as  a  slight  recognition 
of  my  obligations  to  you  ? 

Your  grateful  pupil, 

NELLIE  WYNN. 

When  he  had  finished  reading  the  letter,  she  handed  him 
a  ring,  which  he  took  mechanically.  He  raised  his  eyes  to 
hers  with  perfectly  genuine  admiration.  "  You  're  a  good 
girl,  Nellie,"  he  said,  and,  in  a  moment  of  parental  forget- 
fulness,  unconsciously  advanced  his  lips  towards  her  cheek. 
But  she  drew  back  in  time  to  recall  him  to  a  sense  of  that 
human  weakness. 

"  I  suppose  I  '11  have  time  for  a  nap  yet,"  she  said,  as  a 
gentle  hint  to  her  embarrassed  parent.  He  nodded,  and 
turned  towards  the  door. 

"  If  I  were  you,"  she  continued,  repressing  a  yawn, 
"  I  'd  manage  to  be  seen  on  good  terms  with  Low  at  the 
hotel ;  so  perhaps  you  need  not  give  the  letter  to  him 
until  the  last  thing.  Good-by." 

The  sitting-room  door  opened  and  closed  behind  her  as 
she  slipped  upstairs,  and  her  father,  without  the  formality 


IN  THE  CARQUINEZ  WOODS  111 

of  leave-taking,  quietly  let  himself  out  by  the  front 
door. 

When  he  drove  into  the  highroad  again,  however,  an 
overlooked  possibility  threatened  for  a  moment  to  indefi- 
nitely postpone  his  amiable  intentions  regarding  Low.  The 
hotel  was  at  the  farther  end  of  the  settlement  toward  the 
Carquinez  Woods,  and  as  Wynn  had  nearly  reached  it  he 
was  recalled  to  himself  by  the  sounds  of  hoofs  and  wheels 
rapidly  approaching  from  the  direction  of  the  Excelsior 
turnpike.  Wynn  made  no  doubt  it  was  the  sheriff  and 
Brace.  To  avoid  recognition  at  that  moment,  he  whipped 
up  his  horse,  intending  to  keep  the  lead  until  he  could 
turn  into  the  first  cross-road.  But  the  coming  travelers 
had  the  fleetest  horse  ;  and  finding  it  impossible  to  distance 
them,  he  drove  close  to  the  ditch,  pulling  up  suddenly  as 
the  strange  vehicle  was  abreast  of  him,  and  forcing  them  to 
pass  him  at  full  speed,  with  the  result  already  chronicled. 
When  they  had  vanished  in  the  darkness,  Mr.  Wynn,  with 
a  heart  overflowing  with  Christian  thankfulness  and  univer- 
sal benevolence,  wheeled  round,  and  drove  back  to  the  hotel 
he  had  already  passed.  To  pull  up  at  the  veranda  with  a 
stentorian  shout,  to  thump  loudly  at  the  deserted  bar,  to 
hilariously  beat  the  panels  of  the  landlord's  door,  and  com- 
mit a  jocose  assault  and  battery  upon  that  half-dressed  and 
half-awakened  man,  was  eminently  characteristic  of  Wynn, 
and  part  of  his  amiable  plans  that  morning. 

"  Something  to  wash  this  wood  smoke  from  my  throat, 
Brother  Carter,  and  about  as  much  again  to  prop  open  your 
eyes,"  he  said,  dragging  Carter  before  the  bar,  "  and  glasses 
round  for  as  many  of  the  boys  as  are  up  and  stirring  after 
a  hard-working  Christian's  rest.  How  goes  the  honest  pub- 
lican's trade,  and  who  have  we  here  ?  " 

"  Thar  's  Judge  Eobinson  and  two  lawyers  from  Sacra- 
mento, Dick  Curson  over  from  Yolo,"  said  Carter,  "  and 
that  ar  young  Injin  yarb  doctor  from  the  Carquinez  Woods. 


112  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

I  reckon  he  's  jist  up  —  I  noticed  a  light  under  his  door  as 
I  passed." 

"  He  's  my  man  for  a  friendly  chat  before  breakfast," 
said  Wynn.  "  You  need  n't  come  up.  I  '11  find  the  way. 
I  don't  want  a  light ;  I  reckon  my  eyes  ain't  as  bright  nor 
as  young  as  his,  but  they  '11  see  almost  as  far  in  the  dark  — 
he-he !  "  And,  nodding  to  Brother  Carter,  he  strode  along 
the  passage,  and  with  no  other  introduction  than  a  playful 
and  preliminary  "  Boo  !  "  burst  into  one  of  the  rooms.  Low, 
who  by  the  light  of  a  single  candle  was  bending  over  the 
plates  of  a  large  quarto,  merely  raised  his  eyes  and  looked 
at  the  intruder.  The  young  man's  natural  imperturbability, 
always  exasperating  to  Wynn,  seemed  accented  that  morn- 
ing by  contrast  with  his  own  over-acted  animation. 

"Ah  ha !  — wasting  the  midnight  oil  instead  of  imbibing 
the  morning  dews,"  said  Father  Wynn  archly,  illustrating 
his  metaphor  with  a  movement  of  his  hand  to  his  lips. 
"  What  have  we  here  ?  " 

"An  anonymous  gift,"  replied  Low  simply,  recognizing 
the  father  of  Nellie  by  rising  from  his  chair.  "  It 's  a  vol- 
ume I  've  longed  to  possess,  but  never  could  afford  to  buy. 
I  cannot  imagine  who  sent  it  to  me." 

Wynn  was  for  a  moment  startled  by  the  thought  that  this 
recipient  of  valuable  gifts  might  have  influential  friends. 
But  a  glance  at  the  bare  room,  which  looked  like  a  camp, 
and  the  strange,  unconventional  garb  of  its  occupant,  re- 
stored his  former  convictions.  There  might  be  a  promise 
of  intelligence,  but  scarcely  of  prosperity,  in  the  figure 
before  him. 

"  Ah !  We  must  not  forget  that  we  are  watched  over 
in  the  night  season,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  Low's 
shoulder,  with  an  illustration  of  celestial  guardianship  that 
would  have  been  impious  but  for  its  palpable  grotesqueness. 
"  No,  sir,  we  know  not  what  a  day  may  bring  forth." 

Unfortunately,  Low's  practical  mind  did  not  go  beyond 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  113 

a  mere  human  interpretation.  It  was  enough,  however,  to 
put  a  new  light  in  his  eye  and  a  faint  color  in  his  cheek. 

"  Could  it  have  heen  Miss  Nellie  ?  "  he  asked,  with  half- 
boyish  hesitation. 

Mr.  Wynn  was  too  much  of  a  Christian  not  to  how  he- 
fore  what  appeared  to  him  the  purely  providential  inter- 
position of  this  suggestion.  Seizing  it  and  Low  at  the 
same  moment,  he  playfully  forced  him  down  again  in  his 
chair. 

"  Ah,  you  rascal  !  "  he  said,  with  infinite  archness ; 
"  that 's  your  game,  is  it  ?  You  want  to  trap  poor  Father 
Wynn.  You  want  to  make  him  say  'No.'  You  want  to 
tempt  him  to  commit  himself.  No,  sir  !  —  never,  sir  !  — 
no,  no !  " 

Firmly  convinced  that  the  present  was  Nellie's  and  that 
her  father  only  good-humoredly  guessed  it,  the  young  man's 
simple,  truthful  nature  was  embarrassed.  He  longed  to 
express  his  gratitude,  but  feared  to  betray  the  young  girl's 
trust.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Wynn  speedily  relieved  his  mind. 

"  No,"  he  continued,  bestriding  a  chair,  and  familiarly 
confronting  Low  over  its  back.  "  No,  sir  —  no  !  And  you 
want  me  to  say  '  No,'  don't  you,  regarding  the  little  walks 
of  Nellie  and  a  certain  young  man  in  the  Carquinez  Woods  ? 
—  ha,  ha  !  You  'd  like  me  to  say  that  I  know  nothing  of 
the  botanizings,  and  the  herb  collectings,  and  the  picnick- 
ings  there  —  he-he  !  —  you  sly  dog  !  Perhaps  you  'd  like 
to  tempt  Father  Wynn  further,  and  make  him  swear  he 
knows  nothing  of  his  daughter  disguising  herself  in  a  duster 
and  meeting  another  young  man  —  is  n't  it  another  young 
man  ?  —  all  alone,  eh  ?  Perhaps  you  want  poor  old 
father  Wynn  to  say  '  No.'  No,  sir,  nothing  of  the  kind 
ever  occurred.  Ah,  you  young  rascal ! " 

Slightly  troubled,  in  spite  of  Wynn's  hearty  manner, 
Low,  with  his  usual  directness,  however,  said,  "I  do  not 
want  any  one  to  deny  that  I  have  seen  Miss  Nellie." 


114  IN   THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Wynn,  abandoning  his 
method,  considerably  disconcerted  by  Low's  simplicity,  and 
a  certain  natural  reserve  that  shook  off  his  familiarity. 
"  Certainly  it 's  a  noble  thing  to  be  able  to  put  your  hand 
on  your  heart  and  say  to  the  world,  '  Come  on,  all  of  you  ! 
Observe  me ;  I  have  nothing  to  conceal.  I  walk  with 
Miss  Wynn  in  the  woods  as  her  instructor  —  her  teacher, 
in  fact.  We  cull  a  flower  here  and  there;  we  pluck  an 
herb  fresh  from  the  hand  of  the  Creator.  We  look,  so  to 
speak,  from  Nature  to  Nature's  God.'  Yes,  my  young 
friend,  we  should  be  the  first  to  repel  the  foul  calumny  that 
could  misinterpret  our  most  innocent  actions." 

"  Calumny  ?  "  repeated  Low,  starting  to  his  feet.  "  What 
calumny  ?  " 

"My  friend,  my  noble  young  friend,  I  recognize  your 
indignation.  I  know  your  worth.  When  I  said  to  Nellie, 
my  only  child,  my  perhaps  too  simple  offspring  —  a  mere 
wildflower  like  yourself  —  when  I  said  to  her,  *  Go,  my 
child,  walk  in  the  woods  with  this  young  man,  hand  in 
hand.  Let  him  instruct  you  from  the  humblest  roots,  for 
he  has  trodden  in  the  ways  of  the  Almighty.  Gather 
wisdom  from  his  lips,  and  knowledge  from  his  simple 
woodsman's  craft.  Make,  in  fact,  a  collection  not  only  of 
herbs,  but  of  moral  axioms  and  experience/  —  I  knew  I 
could  trust  you,  and,  trusting  you,  my  young  friend,  I  felt  I 
could  trust  the  world.  Perhaps  I  was  weak,  foolish.  But 
I  thought  only  of  her  welfare.  I  even  recall  how  that,  to 
preserve  the  purity  of  her  garments,  I  bade  her  don  a  simple 
duster ;  that,  to  secure  her  from  the  trifling  companionship 
of  others,  I  bade  her  keep  her  own  counsel,  and  seek  you 
at  seasons  known  but  to  yourselves." 

"  But — did  Nellie  — understand  you  ?  "  interrupted  Low 
hastily. 

"  I  see  you  read  her  simple  nature.  Understand  me  ? 
No,  not  at  first !  Her  maidenly  instinct  —  perhaps  her 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  115 

duty  to  another  —  took  the  alarm.  I  remember  her  words. 
'  But  what  will  Dunn  say  ? '  she  asked.  '  Will  he  not  be 
jealous  ?  ' " 

"  Dunn  !  jealous  !  I  don't  understand,"  said  Low,  fix- 
ing his  eyes  on  Wynn. 

"That's  just  what  I  said  to  Nellie.  'Jealous!'  I 
said.  '  What,  Dunn,  your  affianced  husband,  jealous  of  a 
mere  friend  —  a  teacher,  a  guide,  a  philosopher.  It  is  im- 
possible.' Well,  sir,  she  was  right.  He  is  jealous.  And, 
more  than  that,  he  has  imparted  his  jealousy  to  others  ! 
In  other  words,  he  has  made  a  scandal !  " 

Low's  eyes  flashed.  "  Where  is  your  daughter  now  ?  " 
he  said  sternly. 

"At  present  in  bed,  suffering  from  a  nervous  attack 
brought  on  by  these  unjust  suspicions.  She  appreciates 
your  anxiety,  and,  knowing  that  you  could  not  see  her, 
told  me  to  give  you  this."  He  handed  Low  the  ring  and 
the  letter. 

The  climax  had  been  forced,  and,  it  must  be  confessed, 
was  by  no  means  the  one  Mr.  Wynn  had  fully  arranged 
in  his  own  inner  consciousness.  He  had  intended  to  take 
an  ostentatious  leave  of  Low  in  the  bar-room,  deliver  the 
letter  with  archness,  and  escape  before  a  possible  explosion. 
He  consequently  backed  towards  the  door  for  an  emergency. 
But  he  was  again  at  fault.  That  unaffected  stoical  fortitude 
in  acute  suffering,  which  was  the  one  remaining  pride  and 
glory  of  Low's  race,  was  yet  to  be  revealed  to  Wynn's 
civilized  eyes. 

The  young  man  took  the  letter,  and  read  it  without 
changing  a  muscle,  folded  the  ring  in  it,  and  dropped  it 
into  his  haversack.  Then  he  picked  up  his  blanket,  threw 
it  over  his  shoulder,  took  his  trusty  rifle  in  his  hand,  and 
turned  toward  Wynn  as  if  coldly  surprised  that  he  was  still 
standing  there. 

"  Are  you  — are  you  —  going  ?  "  stammered  Wynn. 


116  IN  THE   CAKQUINEZ   WOODS 

"  Are  you  not  ?  "  replied  Low  dryly,  leaning  on  his  rifle 
for  a  moment  as  if  waiting  for  Wynn  to  precede  him.  The 
preacher  looked  at  him  a  moment,  mumbled  something,  and 
then  shambled  feebly  and  ineffectively  down  the  staircase 
before  Low,  with  a  painful  suggestion  to  the  ordinary  ob- 
server of  being  occasionally  urged  thereto  by  the  moccasin 
of  the  young  man  behind  him. 

On  reaching  the  lower  hall,  however,  he  endeavored  to 
create  a  diversion  in  his  favor  by  dashing  into  the  bar-room 
and  clapping  the  occupants  on  the  back  with  indiscriminate 
playfulness.  But  here  again  he  seemed  to  be  disappointed. 
To  his  great  discomfiture,  a  large  man  not  only  returned 
his  salutation  with  powerful  levity,  but  with  equal  playful- 
ness seized  him  in  his  arms,  and  after  an  ingenious  simula- 
tion of  depositing  him  in  the  horse-trough  set  him  down  in 
affected  amazement.  "  Bletht  if  I  did  n't  think  from  the 
weight  of  your  hand  it  wath  my  old  friend,  Thacramento 
Bill,"  said  Curson  apologetically,  with  a  wink  at  the  by- 
standers. "  That  'th  the  way  Bill  alwayth  uthed  to  tackle 
hith  friendth,  till  he  wath  one  day  bounthed  by  a  prithe-fighter 
in  Frithco,  whom  he  had  mithtaken  for  a  mithionary."  As 
Mr.  Curson's  reputation  was  of  a  quality  that  made  any 
form  of  apology  from  him  instantly  acceptable,  the  amused 
spectators  made  way  for  him  as,  recognizing  Low,  who  was 
just  leaving  the  hotel,  he  turned  coolly  from  them  and 
walked  towards  him. 

"  Halloo  !  "  he  said,  extending  his  hand.  "  You  're  the 
man  I  'm  waiting  for.  Did  you  get  a  book  from  the 
exthpreth  offithe  latht  night  ?  " 

"  I  did.     Why  ?  " 

"  It  'th  all  right.  Ath  I  'm  rethponthible  for  it,  I  only 
wanted  to  know." 

"  Did  you  send  it  ?  "  asked  Low,  quickly  fixing  his  eyes 
on  his  face. 

"  Well,  not  exactly  me.     But  it  'th  not  worth  making  a 


IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS  117 

mythtery  of  it.  Teretha  gave  me  a  commithion  to  buy  it 
and  thend  it  to  you  anonymouthly.  That  'th  a  woman'th 
nonthenth,  for  how  could  thee  get  a  retheipt  for  it  ?  " 

"  Then  it  was  her  present/'  said  Low  gloomily. 

"  Of  courthe.  It  wath  n't  mine,  my  boy.  I  'd  have 
thent  you  a  Tharp'th  rifle  in  plathe  of  that  muthle-loader 
you  carry,  or  thomething  thenthible.  But,  I  thay  !  what  'th 
up  ?  You  look  ath  if  you  had  been  running  all  night." 

Low  grasped  his  hand.  "Thank  you,"  he  said  hur- 
riedly ;  "  but  it 's  nothing.  Only  I  must  be  back  to  the 
woods  early.  Good-by." 

But  Curson  retained  Low's  hand  in  his  own  powerful  grip. 

"  I  '11  go  with  you  a  bit  further,"  he  said.  "  In  fact, 
I  've  got  thomething  to  thay  to  you ;  only  don't  be  in 
thuch  a  hurry ;  the  woodth  can  wait  till  you  get  there." 
Quietly  compelling  Low  to  alter  his  own  characteristic 
Indian  stride  to  keep  pace  with  his,  he  went  on :  "I  don't 
mind  thaying  I  rather  cottoned  to  you  from  the  time  you 
acted  like  a  white  man  —  no  offenthe  —  to  Teretha.  She 
thayth  you  were  left  when  a  child  lying  round,  jutht  ath 
promithcuouthly  ath  she  wath  ;  and  if  I  can  do  anything 
towardth  putting  you  on  the  trail  of  your  people,  I  '11  do  it. 
I  know  thome  of  the  voyageurth  who  traded  with  the 
Cherokeeth,  and  your  father  wath  one  —  was  n't  he  ?  " 
He  glanced  at  Low's  utterly  abstracted  and  immobile  face. 
"  I  thay,  you  don't  theem  to  take  a  hand  in  thith  game, 
pardner.  What  'th  the  row  ?  Ith  anything  wrong  over 
there  ? "  and  he  pointed  to  the  Carquinez  Woods,  which 
were  just  looming  out  of  the  morning  horizon  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

Low  stopped.  The  last  words  of  his  companion  seemed 
to  recall  him  to  himself.  He  raised  his  eyes  automatically 
to  the  woods,  and  started. 

"  There  is  something  wrong  over  there/'  he  said  breath- 
lessly. "Look!" 


118  IN  THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS 

"I  thee  nothing,"  said  Curson,  beginning  to  doubt  Low's 
sanity ;  "  nothing  more  than  I  thaw  an  hour  ago." 

"  Look  again.  Don't  you  see  that  smoke  rising  straight 
up  ?  It  is  n't  blown  over  from  the  Divide  ;  it 's  new 
smoke !  The  fire  is  in  the  woods  !  " 

"  I  reckon  that  'th  so,"  muttered  Curson,  shading  his 
eyes  with  his  hand.  "  But,  hullo  !  wait  a  minute  !  We  '11 
get  hortheth.  I  say  !  "  he  shouted,  forgetting  his  lisp  in 
his  excitement,  "  stop  !  "  But  Low  had  already  lowered 
his  head  and  darted  forward  like  an  arrow. 

In  a  few  moments  he  had  left  not  only  his  companion 
but  the  last  straggling  houses  of  the  outskirts  far  behind 
him,  and  had  struck  out  in  a  long,  swinging  trot  for  the 
disused  "  cut-off."  Already  he  fancied  he  heard  the  note 
of  clamor  in  Indian  Spring,  and  thought  he  distinguished 
the  sound  of  hurrying  hoofs  on  the  great  highway.  But 
the  sunken  trail  hid  it  from  his  view.  From  the  column 
of  smoke  now  plainly  visible  in  the  growing  morning  light 
he  tried  to  locate  the  scene  of  the  conflagration.  It  was 
evidently  not  a  fire  advancing  regularly  from  the  outer  skirt 
of  the  wood,  communicated  to  it  from  the  Divide  :  it  was  a 
local  outburst  near  its  centre.  It  was  not  in  the  direction 
of  his  cabin  in  the  tree.  There  was  no  immediate  danger 
to  Teresa,  unless  fear  drove  her  beyond  the  confines  of  the 
wood  into  the  hands  of  those  who  might  recognize  her. 
The  screaming  of  jays  and  ravens  above  his  head  quickened 
his  speed,  as  it  heralded  the  rapid  advance  of  the  flames ; 
and  the  unexpected  apparition  of  a  bounding  body,  flattened 
and  flying  over  the  yellow  plain,  told  him  that  even  the 
secure  retreat  of  the  mountain  wild-cat  had  been  invaded. 
A  sudden  recollection  of  Teresa's  uncontrollable  terror  that 
first  night  smote  him  with  remorse,  and  redoubled  his 
efforts.  Alone  in  the  track  of  these  frantic  and  bewildered 
beasts,  to  what  madness  might  she  not  be  driven  ! 

The  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  from  the  highroad  turned  his 


IN  THE  CAEQUINEZ  WOODS  119 

course  momentarily  in  that  direction.  The  smoke  was  curl- 
ing lazily  over  the  heads  of  a  party  of  men  in  the  road, 
while  the  huge  bulk  of  a  grizzly  was  disappearing  in  the 
distance.  A  battue  of  the  escaping  animals  had  com- 
menced !  In  the  bitterness  of  his  heart  he  caught  at  the 
horrible  suggestion,  and  resolved  to  save  her  from  them  or 
die  with  her  there. 

How  fast  he  ran,  or  the  time  it  took  him  to  reach  the 
woods,  has  never  been  known.  Their  outlines  were  already 
hidden  when  he  entered  them.  To  a  sense  less  keen,  a 
courage  less  desperate,  and  a  purpose  less  unaltered  than 
Low's,  the  wood  would  have  been  impenetrable.  The  cen- 
tral fire  was  still  confined  to  the  lofty  treetops,  but  the 
downward  rush  of  wind  from  time  to  time  drove  the  smoke 
into  the  aisles  in  blinding  and  suffocating  volumes.  To 
simulate  the  creeping  animals,  and  fall  to  the  ground  on 
hands  and  knees,  feel  his  way  through  the  underbrush 
when  the  smoke  was  densest,  or  take  advantage  of  its  mo- 
mentary lifting,  and  without  uncertainty,  mistake,  or  hesi- 
tation glide  from  tree  to  tree  in  one  undeviating  course, 
was  possible  only  to  an  experienced  woodsman.  To  keep 
his  reason  and  insight  so  clear  as  to  be  able  in  the  midst 
of  this  bewildering  confusion  to  shape  that  course  so  as  to 
intersect  the  wild  and  unknown  tract  of  an  inexperienced, 
frightened  wanderer  belonged  to  Low,  and  to  Low  alone. 
He  was  making  his  way  against  the  wind  towards  the  fire. 
He  had  reasoned  that  she  was  either  in  comparative  safety 
to  windward  of  it,  or  he  should  meet  her  being  driven 
towards  him  by  it,  or  find  her  succumbed  and  fainting  at  its 
feet.  To  do  this  he  must  penetrate  the  burning  belt,  and 
then  pass  under  the  blazing  dome.  He  was  already  upon 
it ;  he  could  see  the  falling  fire  dropping  like  rain  or  blown 
like  gorgeous  blossoms  of  the  conflagration  across  his  path. 
The  space  was  lit  up  brilliantly.  The  vast  shafts  of  dull 
copper  cast  no  shadow  below,  but  there  was  no  sign  nor 


120  IN  THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS 

token  of  any  human  being.  For  a  moment  the  young  man 
was  at  fault.  It  was  true  this  hidden  heart  of  the  forest 
bore  no  undergrowth  ;  the  cool  matted  carpet  of  the  aisles 
seemed  to  quench  the  glowing  fragments  as  they  fell. 
Escape  might  be  difficult,  but  not  impossible  ;  yet  every 
moment  was  precious.  He  leaned  against  a  tree,  and  sent 
his  voice  like  a  clarion  before  him  :  "  Teresa  ! "  There 
was  no  reply.  He  called  again.  A  faint  cry  at  his  back 
from  the  trail  he  had  just  traversed  made  him  turn.  Only 
a  few  paces  behind  him,  blinded  and  staggering,  but  fol- 
lowing like  a  beaten  and  wounded  animal,  Teresa  halted, 
knelt,  clasped  her  hands,  and  dumbly  held  them  out  be- 
fore her.  "  Teresa  !  "  he  cried  again,  and  sprang  to  her 
side. 

She  caught  him  by  the  knees,  and  lifted  her  face  im- 
ploringly to  his. 

"  Say  that  again  !  "  she  cried  passionately.  "  Tell  me  it 
was  Teresa  you  called,  and  no  other  !  You  have  come  back 
for  me  !  You  would  not  let  me  die  here  alone  !  " 

He  lifted  her  tenderly  in  his  arms,  and  cast  a  rapid 
glance  around  him.  It  might  have  been  his  fancy,  but 
there  seemed  a  dull  glow  in  the  direction  he  had  come. 

"  You  do  not  speak  !  "  she  said.  "  Tell  me !  You  did 
not  come  here  to  seek  her  ?  " 

"  Whom  ?  "  he  said  quickly. 

"Nellie!" 

With  a  sharp  cry  he  let  her  slip  to  the  ground.  All 
the  pent-up  agony,  rage,  and  mortification  of  the  last  hour 
broke  from  him  in  that  inarticulate  outburst.  Then,  catch- 
ing her  hands  again,  he  dragged  her  to  his  level. 

"  Hear  me  !  "  he  cried,  disregarding  the  whirling  smoke 
and  the  fiery  baptism  that  sprinkled  them,  —  "  hear  me  ! 
If  you  value  your  life,  if  you  value  your  soul,  and  if  you 
do  not  want  me  to  cast  you  to  the  beasts  like  Jezebel  of 
old,  never  —  never  take  that  accursed  name  again  upon 


She  caught  him  by  the  knees 


IN  THE   CAKQUINEZ  WOODS  121 

your  lips.  Seek  her  —  her  ?  Yes  !  Seek  her  to  tie  her 
like  a  witch's  daughter  of  hell  to  that  blazing  tree  !  "  He 
stopped.  "  Forgive  me,"  he  said  in  a  changed  voice. 
"  I  'm  mad,  and  forgetting  myself  and  you.  Come." 

Without  noticing  the  expression  of  half-savage  delight 
that  had  passed  across  her  face,  he  lifted  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Which  way  are  you  going  ?  "  she  asked,  passing  her 
hands  vaguely  across  his  breast,  as  if  to  reassure  herself  of 
his  identity. 

"  To  our  camp  by  the  scarred  tree,"  he  replied. 

"  Not  there,  not  there,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "  I  was 
driven  from  there  just  now.  I  thought  the  fire  began 
there  until  I  came  here." 

Then  it  was  as  he  feared.  Obeying  the  same  mysteri- 
ous law  that  had  launched  this  fatal  fire  like  a  thunder- 
bolt from  the  burning  mountain  crest  five  miles  away  into 
the  heart  of  the  Carquinez  Woods,  it  had  again  leaped  a 
mile  beyond,  and  was  hemming  them  between  two  narrow- 
ing lines  of  fire.  But  Low  was  not  daunted.  Retracing 
his  steps  through  the  blinding  smoke,  he  strode  off  at  right 
angles  to  the  trail  near  the  point  where  he  had  entered  the 
wood.  It  was  the  spot  where  he  had  first  lifted  Nellie  in 
his  arms  to  carry  her  to  the  hidden  spring.  If  any  recol- 
lection of  it  crossed  his  mind  at  that  moment,  it  was  only 
shown  in  his  redoubled  energy.  He  did  not  glide  through 
the  thick  underbrush,  as  on  that  day,  but  seemed  to  take 
a  savage  pleasure  in  breaking  through  it  with  sheer  brute 
force.  Once  Teresa  insisted  upon  relieving  him  of  the 
burden  of  her  weight,  but  after  a  few  steps  she  staggered 
blindly  against  him,  and  would  fain  have  recourse  once 
more  to  his  strong  arms.  And  so,  alternately  staggering, 
bending,  crouching,  or  bounding  and  crashing  on,  but  always 
in  one  direction,  they  burst  through  the  jealous  rampart, 
and  came  upon  the  sylvan  haunt  of  the  hidden  spring.  The 
great  angle  of  the  half-fallen  tree  acted  as  a  barrier  to  the 


122  IN   THE   CAEQUINEZ  WOODS 

wind  and  drifting  smoke,  and  the  cool  spring  sparkled  and 
bubbled  in  the  almost  translucent  air.  He  laid  her  down 
beside  the  water,  and  bathed  her  face  and  hands.  As  he 
did  so  his  quick  eye  caught  sight  of  a  woman's  handker- 
chief lying  at  the  foot  of  the  disrupted  root.  Dropping 
Teresa's  hand,  he  walked  towards  it,  and  with  the  toe  of 
his  moccasin  gave  it  one  vigorous  kick  into  the  ooze  at  the 
overflow  of  the  spring.  He  turned  to  Teresa,  but  she 
evidently  had  not  noticed  the  act. 

"  Where  are  you  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  smile. 

Something  in  her  movement  struck  him.  He  came  to- 
wards her,  and  bending  down  looked  into  her  face. 

"  Teresa  !  Good  God  !  —  look  at  me !  What  has  hap- 
pened ?  " 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  There  was  a  slight  film 
across  them  ;  the  lids  were  blackened  ;  the  beautiful  lashes 
gone  forever  ! 

"  I  see  you  a  little  now,  I  think,"  she  said,  with  a  smile, 
passing  her  hands  vaguely  over  his  face.  "  It  must  have 
happened  when  he  fainted,  and  I  had  to  drag  him  through 
the  blazing  brush  ;  both  my  hands  were  full,  and  I  could 
not  cover  my  eyes." 

"  Drag  whom  ?  "  said  Low  quickly. 

"  Why,  Dunn." 

"  Dunn !     He  here  ?  "  said  Low  hoarsely. 

"Yes;  didn't  you  read  the  note  I  left  on  the  herba- 
rium ?  Did  n't  you  come  to  the  camp-fire  ? "  she  asked 
hurriedly,  clasping  his  hands.  "  Tell  me  quickly  !  " 

"  No  ! " 

"  Then  you  were  not  there  —  then  you  did  n't  leave  me 
to  die  ?  " 

"  No  !  I  swear  it,  Teresa !  "  the  stoicism  that  had  up- 
held his  own  agony  breaking  down  before  her  strong  emotion. 

"  Thank  God !  "  She  threw  her  arms  around  him,  and 
hid  her  aching  eyes  in  his  troubled  breast. 


IN   THE    CAEQUINEZ  WOODS  123 

"  Tell  me  all,  Teresa,"  he  whispered  in  her  listening 
ear.  "Don't  move  ;  stay  there,  and  tell  me  all." 

With  her  face  buried  in  his  bosom,  as  if  speaking  to  his 
heart  alone,  she  told  him  part,  but  not  all.  With  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  but  a  smile  on  her  lips,  radiant  with  new- 
found happiness,  she  told  him  how  she  had  overheard  the 
plans  of  Dunn  and  Brace,  how  she  had  stolen  their  convey- 
ance to  warn  him  in  time.  But  here  she  stopped,  dreading 
to  say  a  word  that  would  shatter  the  hopes  she  was  build- 
ing upon  his  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  for  Nellie.  She 
could  not  bring  herself  to  repeat  their  interview  —  that 
would  come  later,  when  they  were  safe  and  out  of  danger ; 
now  not  even  the  secret  of  his  birth  must  come  between 
them  with  its  distraction,  to  mar  their  perfect  communion. 
She  faltered  that  Dunn  had  fainted  from  weakness,  and 
that  she  had  dragged  him  out  of  danger.  "  He  will  never 
interfere  with  us  —  I  mean,"  she  said  softly,  "  with  me 
again.  I  can  promise  you  that  as  well  as  if  he  had  sworn 
it." 

"  Let  him  pass  now,"  said  Low ;  "  that  will  come  later 
on,"  he  added,  unconsciously  repeating  her  thought  in  a 
tone  that  made  her  heart  sick.  "But  tell  me,  Teresa, 
why  did  you  go  to  Excelsior  ?  " 

She  buried  her  head  still  deeper,  as  if  to  hide  it.  He 
felt  her  broken  heart  beat  against  his  own  ;  he  was  con- 
scious of  a  depth  of  feeling  her  rival  had  never  awakened 
in  him.  The  possibility  of  Teresa  loving  him  had  never 
occurred  to  his  simple  nature.  He  bent  his  head  and 
kissed  her.  She  was  frightened,  and  unloosed  her  cling- 
ing arms ;  but  he  retained  her  hand,  and  said,  "  We  will 
leave  this  accursed  place,  and  you  shall  go  with  me  as 
you  said  you  would ;  nor  need  you  ever  leave  me,  unless 
you  wish  it." 

She  could  hear  the  beating  of  her  own  heart  through  his 
words ;  she  longed  to  look  at  the  eyes  and  lips  that  told  her 


124  IN  THE   CARQUINEZ  WOODS 

this,  and  read  the  meaning  his  voice  alone  could  not  entirely 
convey.  For  the  first  time  she  felt  the  loss  of  her  sight. 
She  did  not  know  that  it  was,  in  this  moment  of  happiness, 
the  last  blessing  vouchsafed  to  her  miserable  life. 

A  few  moments  of  silence  followed,  broken  only  by  the 
distant  rumor  of  the  conflagration  and  the  crash  of  falling 
boughs.  "  It  may  be  an  hour  yet,"  he  whispered,  "  before 
the  fire  has  swept  a  path  for  us  to  the  road  below.  We 
are  safe  here,  unless  some  sudden  current  should  draw 
the  fire  down  upon  us.  You  are  not  frightened  ?  "  She 
pressed  his  hand ;  she  was  thinking  of  the  pale  face  of 
Dunn,  lying  in  the  secure  retreat  she  had  purchased  for 
him  at  such  a  sacrifice.  Yet  the  possibility  of  danger  to 
him  now  for  a  moment  marred  her  present  happiness  and 
security.  "  You  think  the  fire  will  not  go  north  of  where 
you  found  me  ?  "  she  asked  softly. 

"  I  think  not,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  will  reconnoitre.  Stay 
where  you  are." 

They  pressed  hands,  and  parted.  He  leaped  upon  the 
slanting  trunk,  and  ascended  it  rapidly.  She  waited  in 
mute  expectation. 

There  was  a  sudden  movement  of  the  root  on  which  she 
sat,  a  deafening  crash,  and  she  was  thrown  forward  on  her  face. 

The  vast  bulk  of  the  leaning  tree,  dislodged  from  its 
aerial  support  by  the  gradual  sapping  of  the  spring  at  its 
roots,  or  by  the  crumbling  of  the  bark  from  the  heat,  had 
slipped,  made  a  half  revolution,  and,  falling,  overbore  the 
lesser  trees  in  its  path,  and  tore,  in  its  resistless  momentum, 
a  broad  opening  to  the  underbrush. 

With  a  cry  to  Low,  Teresa  staggered  to  her  feet.  There 
was  an  interval  of  hideous  silence,  but  no  reply.  She  called 
again.  There  was  a  sudden  deepening  roar,  the  blast  of  a 
fiery  furnace  swept  through  the  opening,  a  thousand  lumi- 
nous points  around  her  burst  into  fire,  and  in  an  instant  she 
was  lost  in  a  whirlwind  of  smoke  and  flame  !  From  the 


IN   THE   CARQUINEZ   WOODS  125 

onset  of  its  fury  to  its  culmination  twenty  minutes  did  not 
elapse  ;  but  in  that  interval  a  radius  of  two  hundred  yards 
around  the  hidden  spring  was  swept  of  life  and  light  and 
motion. 

For  the  rest  of  that  day  and  part  of  the  night  a  pall  of 
smoke  hung  above  the  scene  of  desolation.  It  lifted  only 
towards  the  morning,  when  the  moon,  riding  high,  picked 
out  in  black  and  silver  the  shrunken  and  silent  columns  of 
those  roofless  vaults,  shorn  of  base  and  capital.  It  flickered 
on  the  still,  overflowing  pool  of  the  hidden  spring,  and  shone 
upon  the  white  face  of  Low,  who,  with  a  rootlet  of  the 
fallen  tree  holding  him  down  like  an  arm  across  his  breast, 
seemed  to  be  sleeping  peacefully  in  the  sleeping  water. 

Contemporaneous  history  touched  him  as  briefly,  but  not 
as  gently.  "  It  is  now  definitely  ascertained,"  said  "  The 
Slumgullion  Mirror,"  "  that  Sheriff  Dunn  met  his  fate  in 
the  Carquinez  Woods  in  the  performance  of  his  duty;  that  fear- 
less man  having  received  information  of  the  concealment  of 
a  band  of  horse-thieves  in  their  recesses.  The  desperadoes 
are  presumed  to  have  escaped,  as  the  only  remains  found 
are  those  of  two  wretched  tramps,  one  of  whom  is  said  to 
have  been  a  Digger,  who  supported  himself  upon  roots  and 
herbs,  and  the  other  a  degraded  half-white  woman.  It  is 
not  unreasonable  to  suppose  that  the  fire  originated  through 
their  carelessness,  although  Father  Wynn  of  the  First  Bap- 
tist Church,  in  his  powerful  discourse  of  last  Sunday,  pointed 
at  the  warning  and  lesson  of  such  catastrophes.  It  may  not 
be  out  of  place  here  to  say  that  the  rumors  regarding  an  en- 
gagement between  the  pastor's  accomplished  daughter  and 
the  late  lamented  sheriff  are  utterly  without  foundation,  as 
it  has  been  an  on  dit  for  some  time  in  all  well-informed 
circles  that  the  indefatigable  Mr.  Brace,  of  Wells,  Fargo  & 
Co.'s  Express,  will  shortly  lead  the  lady  to  the  hymeneal 
altar." 


A  BLUE   GRASS  PENELOPE 


SHE  was  barely  twenty-three  years  old.  It  is  probable 
that  up  to  that  age,  and  the  beginning  of  this  episode,  her 
life  had  been  uneventful.  Born  to  the  easy  mediocrity  of 
such  compensating  extremes  as  a  small  farmhouse  and  large 
lands,  a  good  position  and  no  society,  in  that  vast  grazing 
district  of  Kentucky  known  as  the  "Blue  Grass"  region, 
all  the  possibilities  of  a  Western  American  girl's  existence 
lay  before  her.  A  piano  in  the  bare-walled  house,  the 
latest  patented  mower  in  the  limitless  meadows,  and  a  silk 
dress  sweeping  the  rough  floor  of  the  unpainted  "  meeting- 
house," were  already  the  promise  of  those  possibilities. 
Beautiful  she  was,  but  the  power  of  that  beauty  was 
limited  by  being  equally  shared  with  her  few  neighbors. 
There  were  small,  narrow,  arched  feet  besides  her  own  that 
trod  the  uncarpeted  floors  of  outlying  log  cabins  with  equal 
grace  and  dignity ;  bright,  clearly  opened  eyes  that  were 
equally  capable  of  looking  unabashed  upon  princes  and 
potentates,  as  a  few  later  did,  and  the  heiress  of  the  county 
judge  read  her  own  beauty  without  envy  in  the  frank  glances 
and  unlowered  crest  of  the  blacksmith's  daughter.  Even- 
tually she  had  married  the  male  of  her  species,  a  young 
stranger,  who,  as  schoolmaster  in  the  nearest  town,  had 
utilized  to  some  local  extent  a  scant  capital  of  education. 
In  obedience  to  the  unwritten  law  of  the  West,  after  the 
marriage  was  celebrated  the  doors  of  the  ancestral  home 
cheerfully  opened,  and  bride  and  bridegroom  issued  forth, 
without  regret  and  without  sentiment,  to  seek  the  further 


A  BLUE   GEASS   PENELOPE  127 

possibilities  of  a  life  beyond  these  already  too  familiar 
voices.  With  their  departure  for  California  as  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Spencer  Tucker,  the  parental  nest  in  the  Blue  Grass 
meadows  knew  them  no  more. 

They  submitted  with  equal  cheerfulness  to  the  privations 
and  excesses  of  their  new  conditions.  Within  three  years 
the  schoolmaster  developed  into  a  lawyer  and  capitalist,  the 
Blue  Grass  bride  supplying  a  grace  and  ease  to  these  tran- 
sitions that  were  all  her  own.  She  softened  the  abruptness 
of  sudden  wealth,  mitigated  the  austerities  of  newly  acquired 
power,  and  made  the  most  glaring  incongruity  picturesque. 
Only  one  thing  seemed  to  limit  their  progress  in  the  region 
of  these  possibilities.  They  were  childless.  It  was  as  if 
they  had  exhausted  the  future  in  their  own  youth,  leaving 
little  or  nothing  for  another  generation  to  do. 

A  southwesterly  storm  was  beating  against  the  dressing- 
room  windows  of  their  new  house  in  one  of  the  hilly 
suburbs  of  San  Francisco,  and  threatening  the  unseason- 
able frivolity  of  the  stucco  ornamentation  of  cornice  and 
balcony.  Mrs.  Tucker  had  been  called  from  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  dreary  prospect  without  by  the  arrival  of  a  visi- 
tor. On  entering  the  drawing-room  she  found  him  engaged 
in  a  half-admiring,  half-resentful  examination  of  its  new 
furniture  and  hangings.  Mrs.  Tucker  at  once  recognized 
Mr.  Calhoun  Weaver,  a  former  Blue  Grass  neighbor ;  with 
swift  feminine  intuition  she  also  felt  that  his  slight  antago- 
nism was  likely  to  be  transferred  from  her  furniture  to  her- 
self. Waiving  it  with  the  lazy  amiability  of  Southern 
indifference,  she  welcomed  him  by  the  familiarity  of  a 
Christian  name. 

"I  reckoned  that  mebbee  you  opined  old  Blue  Grass 
friends  would  n't  naturally  hitch  on  to  them  fancy  doin's," 
he  said,  glancing  around  the  apartment  to  avoid  her  clear 
eyes,  as  if  resolutely  setting  himself  against  the  old  charm 


128  A  BLUE   GKASS   PENELOPE 

of  her  manner  as  he  had  against  the  more  recent  glory  of 
her  surroundings ;  "  but  I  thought  I  'd  just  drop  in  for  the 
sake  of  old  times." 

"  Why  should  n't  you,  Cal  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Tucker  with  a 
frank  smile. 

"Especially  as  I'm  going  up  to  Sacramento  to-night  with 
some  influential  friends,"  he  continued,  with  an  ostentation 
calculated  to  resist  the  assumption  of  her  charms  and  her 
furniture.  "  Senator  Dyce  of  Kentucky,  and  his  cousin 
Judge  Briggs  ;  perhaps  you  know  'em,  or  maybe  Spencer  — 
I  mean  Mr.  Tucker  —  does." 

"I  reckon,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker  smiling;  "but  tell  me 
something  about  the  boys  and  girls  at  Vineville,  and  about 
yourself.  You  're  looking  well,  and  right  smart  too." 
She  paused  to  give  due  emphasis  to  this  latter  recognition 
of  a  huge  gold  chain  with  which  her  visitor  was  somewhat 
ostentatiously  trifling. 

"  I  did  n't  know  as  you  cared  to  hear  anything  about 
Blue  Grass,"  he  returned,  a  little  abashed.  "  I  've  been 
away  from  there  some  time  myself,"  he  added,  his  uneasy 
vanity  taking  fresh  alarm  at  the  faint  suspicion  of  patronage 
on  the  part  of  his  hostess.  "  They  're  doin'  well  though  ; 
perhaps  as  well  as  some  others." 

"  And  you  're  not  married  yet,"  continued  Mrs.  Tucker, 
oblivious  of  the  innuendo.  "  Ah,  Cal,"  she  added  archly, 
"  I  am  afraid  you  are  as  fickle  as  ever.  What  poor  girl  in 
Vineville  have  you  left  pining  ?  " 

The  simple  face  of  the  man  before  her  flushed  with  fool- 
ish gratification  at  this  old-fashioned,  ambiguous  flattery. 
"Now  look  yer,  Belle,"  he  said,  chuckling,  "if  you're 
talking  of  old  times,  and  you  think  I  bear  malice  agin 
Spencer,  why  "  — 

But  Mrs.  Tucker  interrupted  what  might  have  been  an 
inopportune  sentimental  retrospect  with  a  finger  of  arch  but 
languid  warning.  "  That  will  do  !  I  >m  dying  to  know  all 


A  BLUE   GKASS   PENELOPE  129 

about  it,  and  you  must  stay  to  dinner  and  tell  me.  It 's 
right  mean  you  can't  see  Spencer  too ;  but  he  is  n't  back 
from  Sacramento  yet." 

Grateful  as  a  tete-a-tete  with  his  old  neighbor  in  her 
more  prosperous  surroundings  would  have  been,  if  only  for 
the  sake  of  later  gossiping  about  it,  he  felt  it  would  be 
inconsistent  with  his  pride  and  his  assumption  of  present 
business.  More  than  that,  he  was  uneasily  conscious  that 
in  Mrs.  Tucker's  simple  and  unaffected  manner  there  was  a 
greater  superiority  than  he  had  ever  noticed  during  their 
previous  acquaintance.  He  would  have  felt  kinder  to  her 
had  she  shown  any  "  airs  and  graces,"  which  he  could  have 
commented  upon  and  forgiven.  He  stammered  some  vague 
excuse  of  preoccupation,  yet  lingered  in  the  hope  of  saying 
something  which,  if  not  aggressively  unpleasant,  might  at 
least  transfer  to  her  indolent  serenity  some  of  his  own 
irritation.  "  I  reckon,"  he  said,  as  he  moved  hesitatingly 
toward  the  door,  "  that  Spencer  has  made  himself  easy  and 
secure  in  them  business  risks  he  's  taking.  That  'ere  Ala- 
meda  ditch  affair  they  're  talking  so  much  about  is  a  mighty 
big  thing,  rather  too  big  if  it  ever  got  to  falling  back  on 
him.  But  I  suppose  he 's  accustomed  to  take  risks  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  is,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker  gayly.  "  He  mar- 
ried me." 

The  visitor  smiled  feebly,  but  was  not  equal  to  the  op- 
portunity offered  for  gallant  repudiation.  "But  suppose 
you  ain't  accustomed  to  risks  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?     I  married  him,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker. 

Mr.  Calhoun  Weaver  was  human,  and  succumbed  to  this 
last  charming  audacity.  He  broke  into  a  noisy  but  genuine 
laugh,  shook  Mrs.  Tucker's  hand  with  effusion,  said,  "  Now 
that 's  regular  Blue  Grass  and  no  mistake  !  "  and  retreated 
under  cover  of  his  hilarity.  In  the  hall  he  made  a  rallying- 
stand  to  repeat  confidentially  to  the  servant  who  had  over- 
heard them,  "  Blue  Grass  all  over,  you  bet  your  life,"  and, 


130  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

opening  the  door,  was  apparently  swallowed  up  in  the  tem- 
pest. 

Mrs.  Tucker's  smile  kept  her  lips  until  she  had  returned 
to  her  room,  and  even  then  languidly  shone  in  her  eyes  for 
some  minutes  after,  as  she  gazed  abstractedly  from  her  win- 
dow on  the  storm-tossed  bay  in  the  distance.  Perhaps  some 
girlish  vision  of  the  peaceful  Blue  Grass  plain  momentarily 
usurped  the  prospect ;  but  it  is  to  be  doubted  if  there  was 
much  romance  in  that  retrospect,  or  that  it  was  more  inter- 
esting to  her  than  the  positive  and  sharply  cut  outlines  of 
the  practical  life  she  now  led.  Howbeit  she  soon  forgot  this 
fancy  in  lazily  watching  a  boat  that,  in  the  teeth  of  the  gale, 
was  beating  round  Alcatraz  Island.  Although  at  times  a 
mere  blank  speck  on  the  gray  waste  of  foam,  a  closer  scrutiny 
showed  it  to  be  one  of  those  lateen-rigged  Italian  fishing- 
boats  that  so  often  flecked  the  distant  bay.  Lost  in  the 
sudden  darkening  of  rain,  or  reappearing  beneath  the  lifted 
curtain  of  the  squall,  she  watched  it  weather  the  island,  and 
then  turn  its  laboring  but  persistent  course  toward  the  open 
channel.  A  rent  in  the  Indian-inky  sky,  that  showed  the 
narrowing  portals  of  the  Golden  Gate  beyond,  revealed  un- 
expectedly, as  the  destination  of  the  little  craft,  a  tall  ship 
that  hitherto  lay  hidden  in  the  mist  of  the  Saucelito  shore. 
As  the  distance  lessened  between  boat  and  ship,  they  were 
again  lost  in  the  downward  swoop  of  another  squall.  When 
it  lifted,  the  ship  was  creeping  under  the  headland  towards 
the  open  sea,  but  the  boat  was  gone.  Mrs.  Tucker  in  vain 
rubbed  the  pane  with  her  handkerchief  —  it  had  vanished. 
Meanwhile  the  ship,  as  she  neared  the  Gate,  drew  out  from 
the  protecting  headland,  stood  outlined  for  a  moment  with 
spars  and  canvas  hearsed  in  black  against  the  lurid  rent  in 
the  horizon,  and  then  seemed  to  sink  slowly  into  the  heav- 
ing obscurity  beyond.  A  sudden  onset  of  rain  against  the 
windows  obliterated  the  remaining  prospect ;  the  entrance 
of  a  servant  completed  the  diversion. 


A  BLUE   GKASS   PENELOPE  131 

"  Captain  Poindexter,  ma'am  !  " 

Mrs.  Tucker  lifted  her  pretty  eyebrows  interrogatively. 
Captain  Poindexter  was  a  legal  friend  of  her  husband,  and 
had  dined  there  frequently ;  nevertheless  she  asked,  "  Did 
you  tell  him  Mr.  Tucker  was  not  at  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  'm." 

"Did  he  ask  for  me?" 

"  Yes,  'm." 

"  Tell  him  I  '11  be  down  directly." 

Mrs.  Tucker's  quiet  face  did  not  betray  the  fact  that  this 
second  visitor  was  even  less  interesting  than  the  first.  In 
her  heart  she  did  not  like  Captain  Poindexter.  With  a 
clever  woman's  instinct,  she  had  early  detected  the  fact  that 
he  had  a  superior,  stronger  nature  than  her  husband  ;  as  a 
loyal  wife,  she  secretly  resented  the  occasional  unconscious 
exhibition  of  this  fact  on  the  part  of  his  intimate  friend  in 
their  familiar  intercourse.  Added  to  this  slight  jealousy 
there  was  a  certain  moral  antagonism  between  herself  and 
the  captain  which  none  but  themselves  knew.  They  were 
both  philosophers,  but  Mrs.  Tucker's  serene  and  languid 
optimism  would  not  tolerate  the  compassionate  and  kind- 
hearted  pessimisms  of  the  lawyer.  "  Knowing  what  Jack 
Poindexter  does  of  human  nature,"  her  husband  had  once 
said,  "  it 's  mighty  fine  in  him  to  be  so  kind  and  forgiving. 
You  ought  to  like  him  better,  Belle."  "  And  qualify  myself 
to  be  forgiven,"  said  the  lady  pertly.  "  I  don't  see  what 
you  're  driving  at,  Belle ;  I  give  it  up,"  had  responded  the 
puzzled  husband.  Mrs.  Tucker  kissed  his  high  but  foolish 
forehead  tenderly,  and  said,  "  I  'm  glad  you  don't,  dear." 

Meanwhile  her  second  visitor  had,  like  the  first,  em- 
ployed the  interval  in  a  critical  survey  of  the  glories  of  the 
new  furniture,  but  with  apparently  more  compassion  than 
resentment  in  his  manner.  Once  only  had  his  expression 
changed.  Over  the  fireplace  hung  a  large  photograph  of 
Mr.  Spencer  Tucker.  It  was  retouched,  refined,  and  ideal- 


132  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

ized  in  the  highest  style  of  that  polite  and  diplomatic  art. 
As  Captain  Poindexter  looked  upon  the  fringed  hazel  eyes, 
the  drooping  raven  mustache,  the  clustering  ringlets,  and 
the  Byronic  full  throat  and  turned-down  collar  of  his  friend, 
a  smile  of  exhausted  humorous  tolerance  and  affectionate 
impatience  curved  his  lips.  "  Well,  you  are  a  fool,  are  n't 
you  ?  "  he  apostrophized  it  half  audibly. 

He  was  standing  before  the  picture  as  she  entered.  Even 
in  the  trying  contiguity  of  that  peerless  work  he  would 
have  been  called  a  fine-looking  man.  As  he  advanced  to 
greet  her,  it  was  evident  that  his  military  title  was  not  one 
of  the  mere  fanciful  sobriquets  of  the  locality.  In  his 
erect  figure  and  the  disciplined  composure  of  limb  and  atti- 
tude there  were  still  traces  of  the  refined  academic  rigors  of 
West  Point.  The  pliant  adaptability  of  Western  civili- 
zation, which  enabled  him,  three  years  before,  to  leave  the 
army  and  transfer  his  executive  ability  to  the  more  profit- 
able profession  of  the  law,  had  loosed  sash  and  shoulder- 
strap,  but  had  not  entirely  removed  the  restraint  of  the  one, 
nor  the  bearing  of  the  other. 

"  Spencer  is  in  Sacramento,"  began  Mrs.  Tucker  in  lan- 
guid explanation,  after  the  first  greetings  were  over. 

"  I  knew  he  was  not  here,"  replied  Captain  Poindexter 
gently,  as  he  drew  the  proffered  chair  towards  her,  "  but 
this  is  business  that  concerns  you  both."  He  stopped  and 
glanced  upwards  at  the  picture.  "  I  suppose  you  know 
nothing  of  his  business  ?  Of  course  not,"  he  added  reas- 
suringly, "  nothing,  absolutely  nothing,  certainly."  He 
said  this  so  kindly,  and  yet  so  positively,  as  if  to  promptly 
dispose  of  that  question  before  going  further,  that  she  as- 
sented mechanically.  "  Well,  then,  he  's  taken  some  big 
risks  in  the  way  of  business,  and  —  well,  things  have  gone 
bad  with  him,  you  know.  Very  bad  !  Really,  they  could  n't 
be  worse  !  Of  course  it  was  dreadfully  rash  and  all  that," 
he  went  on,  as  if  commenting  upon  the  amusing  wayward- 


A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  133 

ness  of  a  child ;  "  but  the  result  is  the  usual  smash-up  of 
everything,  money,  credit,  and  all !  "  He  laughed,  and 
added,  "Yes,  he's  got  cut  off — mules  and  baggage  regu- 
larly routed  and  dispersed !  I  'm  in  earnest."  He  raised 
his  eyebrows  and  frowned  slightly,  as  if  to  deprecate  any 
corresponding  hilarity  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Tucker,  or  any 
attempt  to  make  too  light  of  the  subject,  and  then  rising, 
placed  his  hands  behind  his  back,  beamed  half  humorously 
upon  her  from  beneath  her  husband's  picture,  and  repeated, 
"  That 's  so." 

Mrs.  Tucker  instinctively  knew  that  he  spoke  the  truth, 
and  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  convey  it  in  any 
other  than  his  natural  manner ;  but  between  the  shock  and 
the  singular  influence  of  that  manner  she  could  at  first  only 
say,  "  You  don't  mean  it !  "  fully  conscious  of  the  utter 
inanity  of  the  remark,  and  that  it  seemed  scarcely  less  cold- 
blooded than  his  own. 

Poindexter,  still  smiling,  nodded. 

She  arose  with  an  effort.  She  had  recovered  from  the 
first  shock,  and  pride  lent  her  a  determined  calmness  that 
more  than  equaled  Poindexter's  easy  philosophy. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  At  sea,  and  I  hope  by  this  time  where  he  cannot  be 
found  or  followed." 

Was  her  momentary  glimpse  of  the  outgoing  ship  a  coin- 
cidence or  only  a  vision  ?  She  was  confused  and  giddy, 
but,  mastering  her  weakness,  she  managed  to  continue  in  a 
lower  voice  :  — 

"  You  have  no  message  for  me  from  him  ?  He  told  you 
nothing  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  absolutely  nothing,"  replied  Poindexter.  "  It 
was  as  much  as  he  could  do,  I  reckon,  to  get  fairly  away 
before  the  crash  came." 

"  Then  you  did  not  see  him  go  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,"  said  Poindexter.     "  I  'd  hardly  have  man- 


134  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

aged  things  in  this  way."  He  checked  himself,  and  added, 
with  a  forgiving  smile,  "But he  was  the  best  judge  of  what 
he  needed,  of  course." 

"  I  suppose  I  will  hear  from  him,"  she  said  quietly,  "  as 
soon  as  he  is  safe.  He  must  have  had  enough  else  to  think 
about,  poor  fellow." 

She  said  this  so  naturally  and  quietly  that  Poindexter  was 
deceived.  He  had  no  idea  that  the  collected  woman  before 
him  was  thinking  only  of  solitude  and  darkness,  of  her  own 
room,  and  madly  longing  to  be  there.  He  said,  "  Yes,  I 
dare  say,"  in  quite  another  voice,  and  glanced  at  the  picture. 
But  as  she  remained  standing,  he  continued  more  earnestly, 
"  I  did  n't  come  here  to  tell  you  what  you  might  read  in  the 
newspapers  to-morrow  morning,  and  what  everybody  might 
tell  you.  Before  that  time  I  want  you  to  do  something  to 
save  a  fragment  of  your  property  from  the  ruin  ;  do  you 
understand  ?  I  want  you  to  make  a  rally,  and  bring  off 
something  in  good  order." 

"  For  him  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Tucker,  with  brightening  eyes. 

"  Well,  yes,  of  course  —  if  you  like  —  but  as  if  for  your- 
self. Do  you  know  the  Eancho  de  los  Cuervos  ?  " 

"I  do." 

"  It 's  almost  the  only  bit  of  real  property  your  husband 
has  n't  sold,  mortgaged,  or  pledged.  Why  it  was  exempt, 
or  whether  only  forgotten,  I  can't  say." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  why,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker,  with  a  slight  re- 
turn of  color.  "  It  was  the  first  land  we  ever  bought,  and 
Spencer  always  said  it  should  be  mine,  and  he  would  build 
a  new  house  on  it." 

Captain  Poindexter  smiled  and  nodded  at  the  picture. 
"  Oh,  he  did  say  that,  did  he  ?  Well,  that 's  evidence.  But 
you  see  he  never  gave  you  the  deed,  and  by  sunrise  to-mor- 
row his  creditors  will  attach  it  —  unless  "  — 

"  Unless  "  —  repeated  Mrs.  Tucker,  with  kindling  eyes. 

"  Unless,"  continued  Captain  Poindexter,  "  they  happen 
to  find  you  in  possession." 


A  BLUE   GKASS  PENELOPE  135 

"  I  '11  go,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker. 

"Of  course  you  will,"  returned  Poindexter  pleasantly. 
"  Only,  as  it 's  a  big  contract  to  take,  suppose  we  see  how 
you  can  fill  it.  It 's  forty  miles  to  Los  Cuervos,  and  you 
can't  trust  yourself  to  steamboat  or  stage-coach.  The  steam- 
boat left  an  hour  ago." 

"  If  I  had  only  known  this  then ! "  ejaculated  Mrs. 
Tucker. 

"  /  knew  it,  but  you  had  company  then,"  said  Poindexter, 
with  ironical  gallantry,  "  and  I  would  n't  disturb  you." 
Without  saying  how  he  knew  it,  he  continued,  "  In  the 
stage-coach  you  might  be  recognized.  You  must  go  in  a 
private  conveyance  and  alone ;  even  I  cannot  go  with  you, 
for  I  must  go  on  before  and  meet  you  there.  Can  you  drive 
forty  miles  ?  " 

Mrs.  Tucker  lifted  up  her  abstracted  pretty  lids.  "  I 
once  drove  fifty  —  at  home,"  she  returned  simply. 

"  Good !  And  I  dare  say  you  did  it  then  for  fun.  Do 
it  now  for  something  real  and  personal,  as  we  lawyers  say. 
You  will  have  relays  and  a  plan  of  the  road.  It 's  rough 
weather  for  a  pasear,  but  all  the  better  for  that.  You  '11 
have  less  company  on  the  road." 

"  How  soon  can  I  go  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  sooner  the  better.  I  've  arranged  everything  for 
you  already,"  he  continued  with  a  laugh.  "  Come  now, 
that 's  a  compliment  to  you,  is  n't  it  ?  "  He  smiled  a  mo- 
ment in  her  steadfast,  earnest  face,  and  then  said  more 
gravely,  "  You  '11  do.  Now  listen." 

He  then  carefully  detailed  his  plan.  There  was  so  little 
of  excitement  or  mystery  in  their  manner  that  the  servant, 
who  returned  to  light  the  gas,  never  knew  that  the  ruin 
and  bankruptcy  of  the  house  was  being  told  before  her,  or 
that  its  mistress  was  planning  her  secret  flight. 

"  Good-afternoon.  I  will  see  you  to-morrow  then,"  said 
Poindexter,  raising  his  eyes  to  hers  as  the  servant  opened 
the  door  for  him. 


136  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

"Good-afternoon,"  repeated  Mrs.  Tucker,  quietly  an- 
swering his  look.  "  You  need  not  light  the  gas  in  my 
room,  Mary,"  she  continued  in  the  same  tone  of  voice  as 
the  door  closed  upon  him ;  "  I  shall  lie  down  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then  I  may  run  over  to  the  Eobinsons  for 
the  evening." 

She  regained  her  room  composedly.  The  longing  desire 
to  bury  her  head  in  her  pillow  and  "  think  out "  her  posi- 
tion had  gone.  She  did  not  apostrophize  her  fate,  she  did 
not  weep  ;  few  real  women  do  in  the  access  of  calamity,  or 
when  there  is  anything  else  to  be  done.  She  felt  that  she 
knew  it  all ;  she  believed  she  had  sounded  the  profoundest 
depths  of  the  disaster,  and  seemed  already  so  old  in  her  ex- 
perience that  she  almost  fancied  she  had  been  prepared  for 
it.  Perhaps  she  did  not  fully  appreciate  it.  To  a  life  like 
hers  it  was  only  an  incident,  the  mere  turning  of  a  page  of 
the  illimitable  book  of  youth  ;  the  breaking  up  of  what  she 
now  felt  had  become  a  monotony.  In  fact,  she  was  not 
quite  sure  she  had  ever  been  satisfied  with  their  present  suc- 
cess. Had  it  brought  her  all  she  expected  ?  She  wanted 
to  say  this  to  her  husband,  not  only  to  comfort  him,  poor 
fellow,  but  that  they  might  come  to  a  better  understanding 
of  life  in  the  future.  She  was  not  perhaps  different  from 
other  loving  women,  who,  believing  in  this  unattainable  goal 
of  matrimony,  have  sought  it  in  the  various  episodes  of 
fortune  or  reverses,  in  the  bearing  of  children,  or  the  loss 
of  friends.  In  her  childless  experience  there  was  no  other 
life  that  had  taken  root  in  her  circumstances  and  might  suffer 
transplantation  ;  only  she  and  her  husband  could  lose  or 
profit  by  the  change.  The  "  better  "  understanding  would 
come  under  other  conditions  than  these. 

She  would  have  gone  superstitiously  to  the  window  to 
gaze  in  the  direction  of  the  vanished  ship,  but  another  in- 
stinct restrained  her.  She  would  put  aside  all  yearning  for 
him  until  she  had  done  something  to  help  him,  and  earned 


A  BLUE   GEASS   PENELOPE  137 

the  confidence  he  seemed  to  have  withheld.  Perhaps  it 
was  pride  —  perhaps  she  never  really  believed  his  exodus 
was  distant  or  complete. 

With  a  full  knowledge  that  to-morrow  the  various  orna- 
ments and  pretty  trifles  around  her  would  he  in  the  hands 
of  the  law,  she  gathered  only  a  few  necessaries  for  her 
flight  and  some  familiar  personal  trinkets.  I  am  con- 
strained to  say  that  this  self-abnegation  was  more  fastidious 
than  moral.  She  had  no  more  idea  of  the  ethics  of  bank- 
ruptcy than  any  other  charming  woman  ;  she  simply  did 
not  like  to  take  with  her  any  contagious  memory  of  the 
chapter  of  the  life  just  closing.  She  glanced  around  the 
home  she  was  leaving  without  a  lingering  regret ;  there 
was  no  sentiment  of  tradition  or  custom  that  might  be 
destroyed  ;  her  roots  lay  too  near  the  surface  to  suffer  dis- 
location ;  the  happiness  of  her  childless  union  had  depended 
upon  no  domestic  centre,  nor  was  its  flame  sacred  to  any 
local  hearthstone.  It  was  without  a  sigh  that,  when  night 
had  fully  fallen,  she  slipped  unnoticed  down  the  staircase. 
At  the  door  of  the  drawing-room  she  paused,  and  then  en- 
tered with  the  first  guilty  feeling  of  shame  she  had  known 
that  evening.  Looking  stealthily  around,  she  mounted  a 
chair  before  her  husband's  picture,  kissed  the  irreproachable 
mustache  hurriedly,  said,  "  You  foolish  darling,  you  !  "  and 
slipped  out  agan.  With  this  touching  indorsement  of  the 
views  of  a  rival  philosopher,  she  closed  the  door  softly,  and 
left  her  home  forever. 

n 

The  wind  and  rain  had  cleared  the  unfrequented  suburb 
of  any  observant  lounger,  and  the  darkness,  lit  only  by  far- 
spaced,  gusty  lamps,  hid  her  hastening  figure.  She  had 
barely  crossed  the  second  street  when  she  heard  the  quick 
clatter  of  hoofs  behind  her ;  a  buggy  drove  up  to  the  curb- 


138  A  BLUE   GKASS   PENELOPE 

stone,  and  Poindexter  leaped  out.  She  entered  quickly, 
but  for  a  moment  he  still  held  the  reins  of  the  impatient 
horse.  "  He  'a  rather  fresh,"  he  said,  eyeing  her  keenly  ; 
"  are  you  sure  you  can  manage  him  ?  " 

"  Give  me  the  reins,"  she  said  simply. 

He  placed  them  in  the  two  firm,  \vell-shaped  hands  that 
reached  from  the  depths  of  the  vehicle,  and  was  satisfied. 
Yet  he  lingered. 

"  It 's  rough  work  for  a  lone  woman,"  he  said  almost 
curtly.  "  I  can't  go  with  you,  but,  speak  frankly,  is  there 
any  man  you  know  whom  you  can  trust  well  enough  to 
take  ?  It 's  not  too  late  yet ;  think  a  moment !  " 

He  paused  over  the  buttoning  of  the  leather  apron  of  the 
vehicle. 

"No,  there  is  none,"  answered  the  voice  from  the  in- 
terior ;  "  and  it 's  better  so.  Is  all  ready  ?  " 

"  One  moment  more."  He  had  recovered  his  half-ban- 
tering manner.  "  You  have  a  friend  and  countryman  al- 
ready with  you,  do  you  know  ?  Your  horse  is  Blue  Grass. 
Good-night." 

With  these  words  ringing  in  her  ears  she  began  her  jour- 
ney. The  horse,  as  if  eager  to  maintain  the  reputation 
which  his  native  district  had  given  his  race,  as  well  as  the 
race  of  the  pretty  woman  behind  him,  leaped  impatiently 
forward.  But  pulled  together  by  the  fine  and  firm  fingers 
that  seemed  to  guide  rather  than  check  his  exuberance,  he 
presently  struck  into  the  long,  swinging  pace  of  his  kind, 
and  kept  it  throughout  without  "  break  "  or  acceleration. 
Over  the  paved  streets  the  light  buggy  rattled,  and  the  slen- 
der shafts  danced  around  his  smooth  barrel ;  but  when  they 
touched  the  level  highroad,  horse  and  vehicle  slipped  for- 
ward through  the  night,  a  swift  and  noiseless  phantom. 
Mrs.  Tucker  could  see  his  graceful  back  dimly  rising  and 
falling  before  her  with  tireless  rhythm,  and  could  feel  the 
intelligent  pressure  of  his  mouth,  until  it  seemed  the  respon- 


A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  139 

sive  grasp  of  a  powerful  but  kindly  hand.  The  faint  glow 
of  conquest  came  to  her  cold  cheek  ;  the  slight  stirrings  of 
pride  moved  her  preoccupied  heart.  A  soft  light  rilled  her 
hazel  eyes.  A  desolate  woman,  bereft  of  husband  and  home, 
and  flying  through  storm  and  night,  she  knew  not  where, 
she  still  leaned  forward  towards  her  horse.  "  Was  he  Blue 
Grass,  then,  dear  old  boy  ?  "  she  gently  cooed  at  him  in  the 
darkness.  He  evidently  was,  and  responded  by  blowing 
her  an  ostentatious  equine  kiss.  "  And  he  would  be  good 
to  his  own  forsaken  Belle,"  she  murmured  caressingly, 
"  and  would  n't  let  any  one  harm  her  ?  "  But  here,  over- 
come by  the  lazy  witchery  of  her  voice,  he  shook  his  head 
so  violently  that  Mrs.  Tucker,  after  the  fashion  of  her  sex, 
had  the  double  satisfaction  of  demurely  restraining  the 
passion  she  had  evoked. 

To  avoid  the  more  traveled  thoroughfare,  while  the  even- 
ing Avas  still  early,  it  had  been  arranged  that  she  should  at 
first  take  a  less  direct  but  less  frequented  road.  This  was 
a  famous  pleasure-drive  from  San  Francisco,  a  graveled  and 
sanded  stretch  of  eight  miles  to  the  sea,  and  an  ultimate 
"  cocktail,"  in  a  "  stately  pleasure-dome  decreed  "  among 
the  surf  and  rocks  of  the  Pacific  shore.  It  was  deserted 
now,  and  left  to  the  unobstructed  sweep  of  the  wind  and 
rain.  Mrs.  Tucker  would  not  have  chosen  this  road.  With 
the  instinctive  jealousy  of  a  bucolic  inland  race  born  by 
great  rivers,  she  did  not  like  the  sea ;  and  again,  the  dim 
and  dreary  waste  tended  to  recall  the  vision  connected  with 
her  husband's  flight,  upon  which  she  had  resolutely  shut  her 
eyes.  But  when  she  had  reached  it  the  road  suddenly 
turned,  following  the  trend  of  the  beach,  and  she  was  ex- 
posed to  the  full  power  of  its  dread  fascinations.  The  com- 
bined roar  of  sea  and  shore  was  in  her  ears.  As  the  direct 
force  of  the  gale  had  compelled  her  to  furl  the  protecting 
hood  of  the  buggy  to  keep  the  light  vehicle  from  oversetting 
or  drifting  to  leeward,  she  could  no  longer  shut  out  the 


140  A   BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

heaving  chaos  on  the  right,  from  which  the  pallid  ghosts  of 
dead  and  dying  breakers  dimly  rose  and  sank  as  if  in  awful 
salutation.  At  times  through  the  darkness  a  white  sheet 
appeared  spread  before  the  path  and  beneath  the  wheels  of 
the  buggy,  which,  when  withdrawn  with  a  reluctant  hiss, 
seemed  striving  to  drag  the  exhausted  beach  seaward  with 
it.  But  the  blind  terror  of  her  horse,  who  swerved  at 
every  sweep  of  the  surge,  shamed  her  own  half-supersti- 
tious fears,  and  with  the  effort  to  control  his  alarm  she 
regained  her  own  self-possession,  albeit  with  eyelashes  wet 
not  altogether  with  the  salt  spray  from  the  sea.  This  was 
followed  by  a  reaction,  perhaps  stimulated  by  her  victory 
over  the  beaten  animal,  when  for  a  time,  she  knew  not 
how  long,  she  felt  only  a  mad  sense  of  freedom  and  power, 
oblivious  of  even  her  sorrows,  her  lost  home  and  husband, 
and  with  intense  feminine  consciousness  she  longed  to  be  a 
man.  She  was  scarcely  aware  that  the  track  turned  again 
inland  until  the  beat  of  the  horse's  hoofs  on  the  firm  ground 
and  an  acceleration  of  speed  showed  her  she  had  left  the 
beach  and  the  mysterious  sea  behind  her,  and  she  remem- 
bered that  she  was  near  the  end  of  the  first  stage  of  her 
journey.  Half  an  hour  later  the  twinkling  lights  of  the 
roadside  inn  where  she  was  to  change  horses  rose  out  of  the 
darkness. 

Happily  for  her,  the  hostler  considered  the  horse,  who 
had  a  local  reputation,  of  more  importance  than  the  un- 
known muffled  figure  in  the  shadow  of  the  unfurled  hood, 
and  confined  his  attention  to  the  animal.  After  a  careful 
examination  of  his  feet  and  a  few  comments  addressed 
solely  to  the  superior  creation,  he  led  him  away.  Mrs. 
Tucker  would  have  liked  to  part  more  affectionately  from 
her  four-footed  compatriot,  and  felt  a  sudden  sense  of  lone- 
liness at  the  loss  of  her  new  friend,  but  a  recollection  of 
certain  cautions  of  Captain  Poindexter's  kept  her  mute. 
Nevertheless,  the  hostler's  ostentatious  adjuration  of  "  Now 


A   BLUE   GRASS    PENELOPE  141 

then,  are  n't  you  going  to  bring  out  that  mustang  for  the 
senora  ?  "  puzzled  her.  It  was  not  until  the  fresh  horse 
was  put  to,  and  she  had  flung  a  piece  of  gold  into  the 
attendant's  hand,  that  the  "  Gracias  "  of  his  unmistakable 
Saxon  speech  revealed  to  her  the  reason  of  the  lawyer's 
caution.  Poindexter  had  evidently  represented  her  to  these 
people  as  a  native  Californian  who  did  not  speak  English. 
In  her  inconsistency  her  blood  took  fire  at  this  first  sug- 
gestion of  deceit,  and  burned  in  her  face.  Why  should 
he  try  to  pass  her  off  as  anybody  else  ?  Why  should  she 
not  use  her  own,  her  husband's  name  ?  She  stopped  and 
bit  her  lip. 

It  was  but  the  beginning  of  an  uneasy  train  of  thought. 
She  suddenly  found  herself  thinking  of  her  visitor,  Cal- 
houn  Weaver,  and  not  pleasantly.  He  would  hear  of  their 
ruin  to-morrow,  perhaps  of  her  own  flight.  He  would 
remember  his  visit,  and  what  would  he  think  of  her  deceit- 
ful frivolity  ?  Would  he  believe  that  she  was  then  ignorant 
of  the  failure  ?  It  was  her  first  sense  of  any  accounta- 
bility to  others  than  herself,  but  even  then  it  was  rather 
owing  to  an  uneasy  consciousness  of  what  her  husband 
must  feel  if  he  were  subjected  to  the  criticisms  of  men  like 
Calhoun.  She  wondered  if  others  knew  that  he  had  kept 
her  in  ignorance  of  his  flight.  Did  Poindexter  know  it,  or 
had  he  only  entrapped  her  into  the  admission  ?  Why  had 
she  not  been  clever  enough  to  make  him  think  that  she 
knew  it  already  ?  For  the  moment  she  hated  Poindexter 
for  sharing  that  secret.  Yet  this  was  again  followed  by  a 
new  impatience  of  her  husband's  want  of  insight  into  her 
ability  to  help  him.  Of  course  the  poor  fellow  could  not 
bear  to  worry  her,  could  not  bear  to  face  such  men  as  Cal- 
houn, or  even  Poindexter  (she  added  exultingly  to  herself), 
but  he  might  have  sent  her  a  line  as  he  fled,  only  to  pre- 
pare her  to  meet  and  combat  the  shame  alone.  It  did  not 
occur  to  her  unsophisticated  singleness  of  nature  that  she 


142  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

was  accepting  as  an  error  of  feeling  what  the  world  would 
call  cowardly  selfishness. 

At  midnight  the  storm  lulled,  and  a  few  stars  trembled 
through  the  rent  clouds.  Her  eyes  had  become  accustomed 
to  the  darkness,  and  her  country  instincts,  a  little  overlaid 
by  the  urban  experiences  of  the  last  few  years,  came  again 
to  the  surface.  She  felt  the  fresh,  cool  radiation  from 
outlying,  upturned  fields,  the  faint,  sad  odors  from  dim 
stretches  of  pricking  grain  and  quickening  leaf,  and  won- 
dered if  at  Los  Cuervos  it  might  be  possible  to  reproduce 
the  peculiar  verdure  of  her  native  district.  She  beguiled 
her  fancy  by  an  ambitious  plan  of  retrieving  their  fortunes 
by  farming ;  her  comfortable  tastes  had  lately  rebelled 
against  the  homeless  mechanical  cultivation  of  those  des- 
olate but  teeming  Californian  acres,  and  for  a  moment 
indulged  in  a  vision  of  a  vine-clad  cottage  home  that  in  any 
other  woman  would  have  been  sentimental.  Her  cramped 
limbs  aching,  she  took  advantage  of  the  security  of  the 
darkness  and  the  familiar  contiguity  of  the  fields  to  get 
down  from  the  vehicle,  gather  her  skirts  together,  and  run 
at  the  head  of  the  mustang,  until  her  chill  blood  was 
thawed,  night  drawing  a  modest  veil  over  this  charming 
revelation  of  the  nymph  and  woman.  But  the  sudden 
shadow  of  a  coyote  checked  the  scouring  feet  of  this  swift 
Camilla,  and  sent  her  back  precipitately  to  the  buggy. 
Nevertheless,  she  was  refreshed  and  able  to  pursue  her 
journey,  until  the  cold  gray  of  early  morning  found  her  at 
the  end  of  her  second  stage. 

Her  route  was  changed  again  from  the  main  highway, 
rendered  dangerous  by  the  approach  of  day  and  the  con- 
tiguity of  the  neighboring  rancheros.  The  road  was  rough 
and  hilly,  her  new  horse  and  vehicle  in  keeping  with  the 
rudeness  of  the  route  —  by  far  the  most  difficult  of  her 
whole  journey.  The  rare  wagon  tracks  that  indicated  her 
road  were  often  scarcely  discernible ;  at  times  they  led 


A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  143 

her  through  openings  in  the  half-cleared  woods,  skirted 
suspicious  morasses,  painfully  climbed  the  smooth,  dome- 
like hills,  or  wound  along  perilous  slopes  at  a  dangerous 
angle.  Twice  she  had  to  alight  and  cling  to  the  sliding 
wheels  on  one  of  those  treacherous  inclines,  or  drag  them 
from  impending  ruts  or  immovable  mire.  In  the  growing 
light  she  could  distinguish  the  distant,  low-lying  marshes 
eaten  by  encroaching  sloughs  and  insidious  channels,  and 
beyond  them  the  faint  gray  waste  of  the  lower  bay.  A 
darker  peninsula  in  the  marsh  she  knew  to  be  the  extreme 
boundary  of  her  future  home  :  the  Eancho  de  los  Cuervos. 
In  another  hour  she  began  to  descend  to  the  plain,  and 
once  more  to  approach  the  main  road,  which  now  ran 
nearly  parallel  with  her  track.  She  scanned  it  cautiously 
for  any  early  traveler  !  it  stretched  north  and  south  in 
apparent  unending  solitude.  She  struck  into  it  boldly,  and 
urged  her  horse  to  the  top  of  his  speed,  until  she  reached 
the  cross-road  that  led  to  the  rancho.  But  here  she  paused 
and  allowed  the  reins  to  drop  idly  on  the  mustang's  back. 
A  singular  and  unaccountable  irresolution  seized  her.  The 
difficulties  of  her  journey  were  over ;  the  rancho  lay  scarcely 
two  miles  away ;  she  had  achieved  the  most  important  part 
of  her  task  in  the  appointed  time  ;  but  she  hesitated.  What 
had  she  come  for  ?  She  tried  to  recall  Poindexter's  words, 
even  her  own  enthusiasm,  but  in  vain.  She  was  going  to 
take  possession  of  her  husband's  property,  she  knew,  that 
was  all.  But  the  means  she  had  taken  seemed  now  so 
exaggerated  and  mysterious  for  that  simple  end,  that  she 
began  to  dread  an  impending  something,  or  socae  vague 
danger  she  had  not  considered,  that  she  was  rushing  blindly 
to  meet.  Full  of  this  strange  feeling,  she  almost  mechan- 
ically stopped  her  horse  as  she  entered  the  cross-road. 

From  this  momentary  hesitation  a  singular  sound  aroused 
her.  It  seemed  at  first  like  the  swift  hurrying  by  of  some 
viewless  courier  of  the  air,  the  vague  alarm  of  some  invisi- 


144  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

ble  flying  herald,  or  like  the  inarticulate  cry  that  precedes 
a  storm.  It  seemed  to  rise  and  fall  around  her  as  if  with 
some  changing  urgency  of  purpose.  Raising  her  eyes,  she 
suddenly  recognized  the  two  far-stretching  lines  of  telegraph 
wire  above  her  head,  and  knew  the  seolian  cry  of  the  morn- 
ing wind  along  its  vibrating  chords.  But  it  brought  another 
and  more  practical  fear  to  her  active  brain.  Perhaps  even 
now  the  telegraph  might  be  anticipating  her  !  Had  Poin- 
dexter  thought  of  that  ?  She  hesitated  no  longer,  but  laying 
the  whip  on  the  back  of  her  jaded  mustang,  again  hurried 
forward. 

As  the  level  horizon  grew  more  distinct,  her  attention 
was  attracted  by  the  white  sail  of  a  small  boat  lazily  thread- 
ing the  sinuous  channel  of  the  slough.  It  might  be  Poin- 
dexter  arriving  by  the  more  direct  route  from  the  steamboat 
that  occasionally  laid  off  the  ancient  embarcadero  of  the 
Los  Cuervos  Eancho.  But  even  while  watching  it  her 
quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  galloping  hoofs  behind  her. 
She  turned  quickly  and  saw  she  was  followed  by  a  horseman. 
But  her  momentary  alarm  was  succeeded  by  a  feeling  of 
relief  as  she  recognized  the  erect  figure  and  square  shoul- 
ders of  Poindexter.  Yet  she  could  not  help  thinking  that 
he  looked  more  like  a  militant  scout,  and  less  like  a  cau- 
tious legal  adviser,  than  ever. 

With  unaffected  womanliness  she  rearranged  her  slightly 
disordered  hair  as  he  drew  up  beside  her.  "  I  thought  you 
were  in  yonder  boat,"  she  said. 

"  Not  I,"  he  laughed  ;  "  I  distanced  you  by  the  high- 
road two  'hours,  and  have  been  reconnoitring,  until  I  saw 
you  hesitate  at  the  cross-roads." 

"  But  who  is  in  the  boat  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Tucker,  partly 
to  hide  her  embarrassment. 

"  Only  some  early  Chinese  market  gardener,  I  dare  say. 
But  you  are  safe  now.  You  are  on  your  own  land.  You 
passed  the  boundary  monument  of  the  rancho  five  minutes 


A   BLUE   GKASS   PENELOPE  145 

ago.  Look !  All  you  see  before  you  is  yours  from  the 
embarcadero  to  yonder  Coast  Eange." 

The  tone  of  half  raillery  did  not,  however,  cheer  Mrs. 
Tucker.  She  shuddered  slightly,  and  cast  her  eyes  over 
the  monotonous  sea  of  tule  and  meadow. 

"  It  does  n't  look  pretty,  perhaps,"  continued  Poindexter, 
"  but  it 's  the  richest  land  in  the  State,  and  the  embarcadero 
will  some  day  be  a  town.  I  suppose  you  '11  call  it  Blue 
Grassville.  But  you  seem  tired  ! "  he  said,  suddenly  drop- 
ping his  voice  to  a  tone  of  half-humorous  sympathy. 

Mrs.  Tucker  managed  to,  get  rid  of  an  impending  tear 
under  the  pretense  of  clearing  her  eyes.  "  Are  we  nearly 
there  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nearly.  You  know,"  he  added,  with  the  same  half- 
mischievous,  half-sympathizing  gayety,  "  it 's  not  exactly 
a  palace  you  're  coining  to,  —  hardly.  It 's  the  old  casa 
that  has  been  deserted  for  years,  but  I  thought  it  better 
you  should  go  into  possession  there  than  take  up  your 
abode  at  the  shanty  where  your  husband's  farm-hands  are. 
No  one  will  know  when  you  take  possession  of  the  casa, 
while  the  very  hour  of  your  arrival  at  the  shanty  would  be 
known ;  and  if  they  should  make  any  trouble  "  — 

"  If  they  should  make  any  trouble  ? "  repeated  Mrs. 
Tucker,  lifting  her  frank,  inquiring  eyes  to  Poindexter. 

His  horse  suddenly  rearing  from  an  apparently  acci- 
dental prick  of  the  spur,  it  was  a  minute  or  two  before  he 
was  able  to  explain.  "  I  mean  if  this  ever  comes  up  as  a 
matter  of  evidence,  you  know.  But  here  we  are  !  " 

What  had  seemed  to  be  an  overgrown  mound  rising 
like  an  island  out  of  the  dead  level  of  the  grassy  sea  now 
resolved  itself  into  a  collection  of  adobe  walls,  eaten  and 
incrusted  with  shrubs  and  vines,  that  bore  some  resem- 
blance to  the  usual  uninhabited  -  looking  exterior  of  a 
Spanish-American  dwelling.  Apertures  that  might  have 
been  lance-shaped  windows  or  only  cracks  and  fissures  in 


146  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

the  walls  were  choked  up  with  weeds  and  grass,  and  gave 
no  passing  glimpse  of  the  interior.  Entering  a  ruinous 
corral  they  came  to  a  second  entrance,  which  proved  to  be 
the  patio  or  courtyard.  The  deserted  wooden  corridor,  with 
beams,  rafters,  and  floors  whitened  by  the  sun  and  wind, 
contained  a  few  withered  leaves,  dryly  rotting  skins,  and 
thongs  of  leather,  as  if  undisturbed  by  human  care.  But 
among  these  scattered  debris  of  former  life  and  habitation 
there  was  no  noisome  or  unclean  suggestion  of  decay.  A 
faint  spiced  odor  of  desiccation  filled  the  bare  walls.  There 
was  no  slime  on  stone  or  sun-dried  brick.  In  place  of 
fungus  or  discolored  moisture  the  dust  of  efflorescence 
whitened  in  the  obscured  corners.  The  elements  had 
picked  clean  the  bones  of  the  old  and  crumbling  tenement 
ere  they  should  finally  absorb  it. 

A  withered  old  peon  woman,  who  in  dress,  complexion, 
and  fibrous  hair  might  have  been  an  animated  fragment  of 
the  debris,  rustled  out  of  a  low  vaulted  passage  and  wel- 
comed them  with  a  feeble  crepitation.  Following  her  into 
the  dim  interior,  Mrs.  Tucker  was  surprised  to  find  some 
slight  attempt  at  comfort  and  even  adornment  in  the  two 
or  three  habitable  apartments.  They  were  scrupulously 
clean  and  dry,  two  qualities  which  in  her  feminine  eyes 
atoned  for  poverty  of  material. 

"  I  could  not  send  anything  from  San  Bruno,  the  near- 
est village,  without  attracting  attention,"  explained  Poin- 
dexter ;  "  but  if  you  can  manage  to  picnic  here  for  a  day 
longer,  I  '11  get  one  of  our  Chinese  friends  here,"  he  pointed 
to  the  slough,  "  to  bring  over,  for  his  return  cargo  from 
across  the  bay,  any  necessaries  you  may  want.  There  is 
no  danger  of  his  betraying  you,"  he  added,  with  an  ironi- 
cal smile  ;  "  Chinamen  and  Indians  are,  by  an  ingenious 
provision  of  the  statute  of  California,  incapable  of  giving 
evidence  against  a  white  person.  You  can  trust  your 
handmaiden  perfectly  —  even  if  she  can't  trust  you.  That 


A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  147 

is  your  sacred  privilege  under  the  constitution.  And  now, 
as  I  expect  to  catch  the  up  hoat  ten  miles  from  hence,  I 
must  say  <good-by'  until  to-morrow  night.  I  hope  to 
bring  you  then  some  more  definite  plans  for  the  future. 
The  worst  is  over."  He  held  her  hand  for  a  moment,  and 
with  a  graver  voice  continued,  "  You  have  done  it  very 
well  —  do  you  know  —  very  well !  " 

In  the  slight  embarrassment  produced  by  his  sudden 
change  of  manner  she  felt  that  her  thanks  seemed  awkward 
and  restrained.  "Don't  thank  me,"  he  laughed,  with  a 
prompt  return  of  his  former  levity ;  "  that 's  my  trade.  I 
only  advised.  You  have  saved  yourself  like  a  plucky 
woman  — shall  I  say  like  Blue  Grass  ?  Good-by  !  "  He 
mounted  his  horse,  but,  as  if  struck  by  an  after-thought, 
wheeled  and  drew  up  by  her  side  again.  "  If  I  were  you 
I  would  n't  see  many  strangers  for  a  day  or  two,  and 
listen  to  as  little  news  as  a  woman  possibly  can."  He 
laughed  again,  waved  her  a  half-gallant,  half-military  sa- 
lute, and  was  gone.  The  question  she  had  been  trying  to 
frame,  regarding  the  probability  of  communication  with  her 
husband,  remained  unasked.  At  least  she  had  saved  her 
pride  before  him. 

Addressing  herself  to  the  care  of  her  narrow  household, 
she  mechanically  put  away  the  few  things  she  had  brought 
with  her,  and  began  to  readjust  the  scant  furniture.  She 
was  a  little  discomposed  at  first  at  the  absence  of  bolts,  locks, 
and  even  window-fastenings  until  assured,  by  Concha's  evi- 
dent inability  to  comprehend  her  concern,  that  they  were 
quite  unknown  at  Los  Cuervos.  Her  slight  knowledge  of 
Spanish  was  barely  sufficient  to  make  her  wants  known,  so 
that  the  relief  of  conversation  with  her  only  companion  was 
debarred  her,  and  she  was  obliged  to  content  herself  with 
the  sapless,  crackling  smiles  and  withered  genuflexions  that 
the  old  woman  dropped  like  dead  leaves  in  her  path.  It 
was  staring  noon  when,  the  house  singing  like  an  empty 


148  A   BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

shell  in  the  monotonous  wind,  she  felt  she  could  stand  the 
solitude  no  longer,  and,  crossing  the  glaring  patio  and  whis- 
tling corridor,  made  her  way  to  the  open  gateway. 

But  the  view  without  seemed  to  intensify  her  desolation. 
The  broad  expanse  of  the  shadowless  plain  reached  appar- 
ently to  the  Coast  Range,  trackless  and  unbroken  save  by 
one  or  two  clusters  of  dwarfed  oaks,  which  at  that  distance 
were  but  mossy  excrescences  on  the  surface,  barely  raised 
above  the  dead  level.  On  the  other  side  the  marsh  took 
up  the  monotony  and  carried  it,  scarcely  interrupted  by  un- 
defined water-courses,  to  the  faintly  marked-out  horizon  line 
of  the  remote  bay.  Scattered  and  apparently  motionless 
black  spots  on  the  meadows  that  gave  a  dreary  significance 
to  the  title  of  "  The  Crows  "  which  the  rancho  bore,  and 
sudden  gray  clouds  of  sandpipers  on  the  marshes,  that  rose 
and  vanished  down  the  wind,  were  the  only  signs  of  life. 
Even  the  white  sail  of  the  early  morning  was  gone. 

She  stood  there  until  the  aching  of  her  straining  eyes  and 
the  stiffening  of  her  limbs  in  the  cold  wind  compelled  her  to 
seek  the  sheltered  warmth  of  the  courtyard.  Here  she  en- 
deavored to  make  friends  with  a  bright-eyed  lizard,  who  was 
sunning  himself  in  the  corridor ;  a  graceful  little  creature  in 
blue  and  gold,  from  whom  she  felt  at  other  times  she  might 
have  fled,  but  whose  beauty  and  harmlessness  solitude  had 
made  known  to  her.  With  misplaced  kindness  she  tempted 
it  with  bread-crumbs,  with  no  other  effect  than  to  stiffen  it 
into  stony  astonishment.  She  wondered  if  she  should  be- 
come like  the  prisoners  she  had  read  of  in  books,  who 
poured  out  their  solitary  affections  on  noisome  creatures, 
and  she  regretted  even  the  mustang,  which  with  the  buggy 
had  disappeared  under  the  charge  of  some  unknown  retainer 
on  her  arrival.  Was  she  not  a  prisoner  ?  The  shutterless 
windows,  yawning  doors,  and  open  gate  refuted  the  sugges- 
tion, but  the  encompassing  solitude  and  trackless  waste  still 
held  her  captive.  Poindexter  had  told  her  it  was  four  miles 


A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  149 

to  the  shanty  ;  she  might  walk  there.  Why  had  she  given 
her  word  that  she  would  remain  at  the  rancho  until  he 
returned  ? 

The  long  day  crept  monotonously  away,  and  she  wel- 
comed the  night  which  shut  out  the  dreary  prospect.  But 
it  brought  no  cessation  of  the  harassing  wind  without,  nor 
surcease  of  the  nervous  irritation  its  perpetual  and  even  ac- 
tivity wrought  upon  her.  It  haunted  her  pillow  even  in  her 
exhausted  sleep,  and  seemed  to  impatiently  beckon  her  to 
rise  and  follow  it.  It  brought  her  feverish  dreams  of  her 
husband,  footsore  and  weary,  staggering  forward  under  its 
pitiless  lash  and  clamorous  outcry ;  she  would  have  gone  to 
his  assistance,  but  when  she  reached  his  side  and  held  out 
her  arms  to  him  it  hurried  her  past  with  merciless  power, 
and,  bearing  her  away,  left  him  hopelessly  behind.  It  was 
broad  day  when  she  awoke.  The  usual  night  showers  of  the 
waning  rainy  season  had  left  no  trace  in  sky  or  meadow ; 
the  fervid  morning  sun  had  already  dried  the  patio  ;  only  the 
restless,  harrying  wind  remained. 

Mrs.  Tucker  arose  with  a  resolve.  She  had  learned  from 
Concha  on  the  previous  evening  that  a  part  of  the  shanty 
was  used  as  a  tienda  or  shop  for  the  laborers  and  rancheros. 
Under  the  necessity  of  purchasing  some  articles,  she  would 
go  there  and  for  a  moment  mingle  with  those  people,  who 
would  not  recognize  her.  Even  if  they  did,  her  instinct  told 
her  it  would  be  less  to  be  feared  than  the  hopeless  uncer- 
tainty of  another  day.  As  she  left  the  house  the  wind 
seemed  to  seize  her  as  in  her  dream,  and  hurry  her  along 
with  it,  until  in  a  few  moments  the  walls  of  the  low  casa 
sank  into  the  earth  again,  and  she  was  alone  but  for  the 
breeze  on  the  solitary  plain.  The  level  distance  glittered 
in  the  sharp  light,  a  few  crows  with  slant  wings  dipped 
and  ran  down  the  wind  before  her,  and  a  passing  gleam  on 
the  marsh  was  explained  by  the  far-off  cry  of  a  curlew. 

She  had  walked  for  an  hour,  upheld  by  the  stimulus  of 


150  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

.light  and  morning  air,  when  the  cluster  of  scrub  oaks,  which 
was  her  destination,  opened  enough  to  show  two  rambling 
sheds,  before  one  of  which  was  a  wooden  platform  contain- 
ing a  few  barrels  and  bones.  As  she  approached  nearer, 
she  could  see  that  one  or  two  horses  were  tethered  under 
the  trees,  that  their  riders  were  lounging  by  a  horse-trough, 
and  that  over  an  open  door  the  word  "  Tienda  "  was  rudely 
painted  on  a  board,  and  as  rudely  illustrated  by  the  wares 
displayed  at  door  and  window.  Accustomed  as  she  was  to 
the  poverty  of  frontier  architecture,  even  the  crumbling 
walls  of  the  old  hacienda  she  had  just  left  seemed  pictur- 
esque to  the  rigid  angles  of  the  thin,  blank,  unpainted  shell 
before  her. 

One  of  the  loungers,  who  was  reading  a  newspaper  aloud 
as  she  advanced,  put  it  aside  and  stared  at  her ;  there  was 
an  evident  commotion  in  the  shop  as  she  stepped  upon  the 
platform,  and  when  she  entered,  with  breathless  lips  and 
beating  heart,  she  found  herself  the  object  of  a  dozen 
curious  eyes.  Her  quick  pride  resented  the  scrutiny  and 
recalled  her  courage,  and  it  was  with  a  slight  coldness  in 
her  usual  lazy  indifference  that  she  leaned  over  the  counter 
and  asked  for  the  articles  she  wanted. 

The  request  was  followed  by  a  dead  silence.  Mrs. 
Tucker  repeated  it  with  some  hauteur. 

"  I  reckon  you  don't  seem  to  know  this  store  is  in  the 
hands  of  the  sheriff,"  said  one  of  the  loungers. 

Mrs.  Tucker  was  not  aware  of  it. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  any  one  who 's  a  better  right  to 
know  than  Spence  Tucker's  wife,"  said  another  with  a  coarse 
laugh.  The  laugh  was  echoed  by  the  others.  Mrs.  Tucker 
saw  the  pit  into  which  she  had  deliberately  walked,  but  did 
not  flinch. 

"  Is  there  any  one  to  serve  here  ?  "  she  asked,  turning 
her  clear  eyes  full  upon  the  bystanders. 

"  You  'd  better  ask  the  sheriff.     He  was  the  last  one  to 


A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  151 

sarve  here.  He  sarved  an  attachment,"  replied  the  inevi- 
table humorist  of  all  Californian  assemblages. 

"  Is  he  here  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Tucker,  disregarding  the  re- 
newed laughter  which  followed  this  subtle  witticism. 

The  loungers  at  the  door  made  way  for  one  of  their  party, 
who  was  half  dragged,  half  pushed  into  the  shop.  "  Here 
he  is,"  said  half  a  dozen  eager  voices,  in  the  fond  belief  that 
his  presence  might  impart  additional  humor  to  the  situation. 
He  cast  a  deprecating  glance  at  Mrs.  Tucker,  and  said,  "  It  'a 
so,  madam  !  This  yer  place  is  attached ;  but  if  there 's 
anything  you  're  wanting,  why  I  reckon,  boys,"  —  he 
turned  half  appealingly  to  the  crowd,  —  "  we  could  oblige 
a  lady."  There  was  a  vague  sound  of  angry  opposition  and 
remonstrance  from  the  back  door  of  the  shop,  but  the 
majority,  partly  overcome  by  Mrs.  Tucker's  beauty,  assented. 
"  Only,"  continued  the  officer  explanatorily,  "  ez  these  yer 
goods  are  in  the  hands  of  the  creditors,  they  ought  to  be 
represented  by  an  equivalent  in  money.  If  you  're  expect- 
ing they  should  be  charged  "  — 

"  But  I  wish  to  pay  for  them,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Tucker, 
with  a  slight  flush  of  indignation ;  "  I  have  the  money." 

"  Oh,  I  bet  you  have  !  "  screamed  a  voice,  as,  overturn- 
ing all  opposition,  the  malcontent  at  the  back  door,  in  the 
shape  of  an  infuriated  woman,  forced  her  way  into  the  shop. 
"  I  '11  bet  you  have  the  money  !  Look  at  her,  boys  !  Look 
at  the  wife  of  the  thief,  with  the  stolen  money  in  diamonds 
in  her  ears  and  rings  on  her  fingers.  She 's  got  money  if 
we've  none.  She  can  pay  for  what  she  fancies,  if  we 
have  n't  a  cent  to  redeem  the  bed  that 's  stolen  from  under 
us.  Oh,  yes,  buy  it  all,  Mrs.  Spencer  Tucker  !  buy  the 
whole  shop,  Mrs.  Spencer  Tucker,  do  you  hear  ?  And  if 
you  ain't  satisfied  then,  buy  my  clothes,  my  wedding  ring, 
the  only  things  your  husband  has  n't  stolen." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker  coldly, 
turning  towards  the  door.  But  with  a  flying  leap  across 


152  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

the  counter  her  relentless  adversary  stood  between  her  and 
retreat. 

"  You  don't  understand !  Perhaps  you  don't  under- 
stand that  your  husband  not  only  stole  the  hard  labor  of 
these  men,  but  even  the  little  money  they  brought  here 
and  trusted  to  his  thieving  hands.  Perhaps  you  don't 
know  that  he  stole  my  husband's  hard  earnings,  mortgaged 
these  very  goods  you  want  to  buy,  and  that  he  is  to-day  a 
convicted  thief,  a  forger,  and  a  runaway  coward.  Perhaps, 
if  you  can't  understand  me,  you  can  read  the  newspaper. 
Look  !  "  She  exultingly  opened  the  paper  the  sheriff  had 
been  reading  aloud,  and  pointed  to  the  displayed  headlines. 
"  Look !  there  are  the  very  words,  '  Forgery,  Swindling, 
Embezzlement ! '  Do  you  see  ?  And  perhaps  you  can't 
understand  this.  Look !  <  Shameful  Flight.  Abandons 
his  Wife.  Euns  off  with  a  Notorious '  "  — 

"  Easy,  old  gal,  easy  now.  D — n  it !  Will  you  dry 
up  ?  I  say.  Stop  !  " 

It  was  too  late  !  The  sheriff  had  dashed  the  paper  from 
the  woman's  hand,  but  not  until  Mrs.  Tucker  had  read  a 
single  line,  a  line  such  as  she  had  sometimes  turned  from 
with  weary  scorn  in  her  careless  perusal  of  the  daily  shame- 
ful chronicle  of  domestic  infelicity.  Then  she  had  coldly 
wondered  if  there  could  be  any  such  men  and  women.  And 
now  !  The  crowd  fell  back  before  her  ;  even  the  virago 
was  silenced  as  she  looked  at  her  face.  The  humorist's 
face  was  as  white,  but  not  as  immobile,  as  he  gasped, 
"  Christ !  if  I  don't  believe  she  knew  nothin'  of  it !  " 

For  a  moment  the  full  force  of  such  a  supposition,  with 
all  its  poignancy,  its  dramatic  intensity,  and  its  pathos, 
possessed  the  crowd.  In  the  momentary  clairvoyance  of 
enthusiasm  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  truth,  and  by  one 
of  the  strange  reactions  of  human  passion  they  only  waited 
for  a  word  of  appeal  or  explanation  from  her  lips  to  throw 
themselves  at  her  feet.  Had  she  simply  told  her  story 


A   BLUE   GEASS   PENELOPE  153 

they  would  have  believed  her ;  had  she  cried,  fainted,  or 
gone  into  hysterics,  they  would  have  pitied  her.  She  did 
neither.  Perhaps  she  thought  of  neither,  or  indeed  of  any- 
thing that  was  then  before  her  eyes.  She  walked  erect  to 
the  door,  and  turned  upon  the  threshold.  "  I  mean  what 
I  say,"  she  said  calmly.  "  I  don't  understand  you.  But 
whatever  just  claims  you  have  upon  my  husband  will  be 
paid  by  me,  or  by  his  lawyer,  Captain  Poindexter." 

She  had  lost  the  sympathy  but  not  the  respect  of  her 
hearers.  They  made  way  for  her  with  sullen  deference  as 
she  passed  out  on  the  platform.  But  her  adversary,  profit- 
ing by  the  last  opportunity,  burst  into  an  ironical  laugh. 

"  Captain  Poindexter,  is  it  ?  Well,  perhaps  he  's  safe  to 
pay  your  bill ;  but  as  for  your  husband's  "  — 

"  That 's  another  matter,"  interrupted  a  familiar  voice 
with  the  greatest  cheerfulness ;  "  that 's  what  you  were 
going  to  say,  wa^  n't  it  ?  Ha,  ha  !  Well,  Mrs.  Patter- 
son," continued  Poindexter,  stepping  from  his  buggy,  "  you 
never  spoke  a  truer  word  in  your  life.  —  One  moment,  Mrs. 
Tucker.  Let  me  send  you  back  in  the  buggy.  Don't  mind 
me.  I  can  get  a  fresh  horse  of  the  sheriff.  I  'm  quite  at 
home  here."  Then,  turning  to  one  of  the  bystanders,  "  I 
say,  Patterson,  step  a  few  paces  this  way,  will  you  ?  A 
little  further  from  your  wife,  please.  That  will  do.  You  've 
got  a  claim  of  five  thousand  dollars  against  the  property, 
have  n't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  that  woman  just  driving  away  is  your  one  soli- 
tary chance  of  getting  a  cent  of  it.  If  your  wife  insults  her 
again,  that  chance  is  gone.  And  if  you  do  "  — 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  As  sure  as  there  is  a  God  in  Israel  and  a  Supreme 
Court  of  the  State  of  California,  I  '11  kill  you  in  your 
tracks  !  —  Stay  !  " 

Patterson  turned.     The  irrepressible  look  of  humorous 


154  A   BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

tolerance  of  all  human  frailty  had  suffused  Poindexter's 
black  eyes  with  mischievous  moisture.  "  If  you  think  it 
quite  safe  to  confide  to  your  wife  this  prospect  of  her  im- 
provement by  widowhood,  you  may  ! " 


HI 


Mr.  Patterson  did  not  inform  his  wife  of  the  lawyer's 
personal  threat  to  himself.  But  he  managed,  after  Poin- 
dexter  had  left,  to  make  her  conscious  that  Mrs.  Tucker 
might  be  a  power  to  be  placated  and  feared.  "  You  've 
shot  off  your  mouth  at  her,"  he  said  argumentatively,  "  and 
whether  you  've  hit  the  mark  or  not  you  've  had  your  say. 
Ef  you  think  it 's  worth  a  possible  five  thousand  dollars  and 
interest  to  keep  on,  heave  ahead.  Ef  you  rather  have  the 
chance  of.  getting  the  rest  in  cash,  you  'y.  let  up  on  her." 
"•  You  don't  suppose,"  returned  Mrs.  Patterson  contemp- 
tuously, "  that  she 's  got  anything  but  what  that  man  of  hers 
— Poindexter  —  lets  her  have  ?  "  "The  sheriff  says,"  re- 
torted Patterson  surlily,  "  that  she  's  notified  him  that  she 
claims  the  rancho  as  a  gift  from  her  husband  three  years 
ago,  and  she  's  in  possession  now,  and  was  so  when  the  exe- 
cution was  out.  It  don't  make  no  matter,"  he  added,  with 
gloomy  philosophy,  "  who  's  got  a  full  hand  as  long  as  we 
ain't  got  the  cards  to  chip  in.  I  would  n't  'a'  minded  it," 
he  continued  meditatively,  "  ef  Spence  Tucker  had  dropped 
a  hint  to  me  afore  he  put  out."  "  And  I  suppose,"  said 
Mrs.  Patterson  angrily,  "  you  'd  have  put  out  too  ?  "  "I 
reckon,"  said  Patterson  simply. 

Twice  or  thrice  during  the  evening  he  referred,  more  or 
less  directly,  to  this  lack  of  confidence  shown  by  his  late 
debtor  and  employer,  and  seemed  to  feel  it  more  keenly 
than  the  loss  of  property.  He  confided  his  sentiments 
quite  openly  to  the  sheriff  in  possession,  over  the  whiskey 


A   BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  155 

and  euchre  with  which  these  gentlemen  avoided  the  diffi- 
culties of  their  delicate  relations.  He  brooded  over  it  as 
he  handed  the  keys  of  the  shop  to  the  sheriff  when  they 
parted  for  the  night,  and  was  still  thinking  of  it  when  the 
house  was  closed,  everybody  gone  to  bed,  and  he  was  fetch- 
ing a  fresh  jug  of  water  from  the  well.  The  moon  was  at 
times  obscured  by  flying  clouds,  the  avant-couriers  of  the 
regular  evening  shower.  He  was  stooping  over  the  well, 
when  he  sprang  suddenly  to  his  feet  again.  "  Who 's 
there  ?  "  he  demanded  sharply. 

"  Hush  ! "  said  a  voice  so  low  and  faint  it  might  have 
been  a  whisper  of  the  wind  in  the  palisades  of  the  corral. 
But,  indistinct  as  it  was,  it  was  the  voice  of  a  man  he  was 
thinking  of  as  far  away,  and  it  sent  a  thrill  of  alternate  awe 
and  pleasure  through  his  pulses. 

He  glanced  quickly  round.  The  moon  was  hidden  by  a 
passing  cloud,  and  only  the  faint  outlines  of  the  house  he 
had  just  quitted  were  visible.  "  Is  that  you,  Spence  ?  " 
he  said  tremulously. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  voice,  and  a  figure  dimly  emerged 
from  the  corner  of  the  corral. 

"  Lay  low,  lay  low,  for  God's  sake,"  said  Patterson,  hur- 
riedly throwing  himself  upon  the  apparition.  "  The  sheriff 
and  his  posse  are  in  there." 

"  But  I  must  speak  to  you  a  moment,"  said  the  figure. 

"Wait,"  said  Patterson,  glancing  toward  the  building. 
Its  blank,  shutterless  windows  revealed  no  inner  light ;  a 
profound  silence  encompassed  it.  "  Come  quick,"  he  whis- 
pered. Letting  his  grasp  slip  down  to  the  unresisting  hand 
of  the  stranger,  he  half  dragged,  half  led  him,  brushing 
against  the  wall,  into  the  open  door  of  the  deserted  bar-room 
he  had  just  quitted,  locked  the  inner  door,  poured  a  glass  of 
whiskey  from  a  decanter,  gave  it  to  him,  and  then  watched 
him  drain  it  at  a  single  draught.  The  moon  came  out,  and 
falling  through  the  bare  windows  full  upon  the  stranger's 


156  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

face,  revealed  the  artistic  but  slightly  disheveled  curls  and 
mustache  of  the  fugitive,  Spencer  Tucker. 

Whatever  may  have  heen  the  real  influence  of  this  unfor- 
tunate man  upon  his  fellows,  it  seemed  to  find  expression 
in  a  singular  unanimity  of  criticism.  Patterson  looked  at 
him  with  a  half-dismal,  half-welcoming  smile.  "  Well,  you 
are  a  h — 11  of  a  fellow,  ain't  you  ?  " 

Spencer  Tucker  passed  his  hand  through  his  hair  and 
lifted  it  from  his  forehead,  with  a  gesture  at  once  emotional 
and  theatrical.  "I  am  a  man  with  a  price  on  me !  "  he 
said  bitterly.  "  Give  me  up  to  the  sheriff,  and  you  '11  get 
five  thousand  dollars.  Help  me,  and  you  '11  get  nothing. 
That 's  my  d — d  luck,  and  yours  too,  I  suppose." 

"  I  reckon  you  're  right  there,"  said  Patterson  gloomily. 
"  But  I  thought  you  got  clean  away  —  went  off  in  a  ship  "  — 

"  Went  off  in  a  boat  to  a  ship,"  interrupted  Tucker  sav- 
agely ;  "  went  off  to  a  ship  that  had  all  my  things  on  board 
—  everything.  The  cursed  boat  capsized  in  a  squall  just 
off  the  Heads.  The  ship,  d — n  her,  sailed  away,  the  men 
thinking  I  was  drowned  likely,  and  that  they  'd  make  a 
good  thing  off  my  goods,  I  reckon." 

"  But  the  girl,  Inez,  who  was  with  you,  did  n't  she  make 
a  row  ?  " 

"  Quien  sabe  ?  "  returned  Tucker,  with  a  reckless  laugh. 
"  Well,  I  hung  on  like  grim  death  to  that  boat's  keel  until 
one  of  those  Chinese  fishermen,  in  a  '  dug-out,'  hauled  me 
in  opposite  Saucelito.  I  chartered  him  and  his  dug-out  to 
bring  me  down  here." 

"  Why  here  ?  "  asked  Patterson,  with  a  certain  ostenta- 
tious caution  that  ill  concealed  his  pensive  satisfaction. 

"  You  may  well  ask,"  returned  Tucker,  with  an  equal 
ostentation  of  bitterness,  as  he  slightly  waved  his  companion 
away.  "But  I  reckoned  I  could  trust  a  white  man  that 
I  'd  been  kind  to,  and  who  would  n't  go  back  on  me.  No, 
no,  let  me  go !  Hand  me  over  to  the  sheriff  1 " 


A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  157 

Patterson  had  suddenly  grasped  both  the  hands  of  the 
picturesque  scamp  before  him,  with  an  affection  that  for  an 
instant  almost  shamed  the  man  who  had  ruined  him.  But 
Tucker's  egotism  whispered  that  this  affection  was  only  a 
recognition  of  his  own  superiority,  and  felt  nattered.  He 
was  beginning  to  believe  that  he  was  really  the  injured 
party. 

"  What  I  have  and  what  I  have  had  is  yours,  Spence," 
returned  Patterson,  with  a  sad  and  simple  directness  that 
made  any  further  discussion  a  gratuitous  insult.  "  I  only 
wanted  to  know  what  you  reckoned  to  do  here." 

"  I  want  to  get  over  across  the  Coast  Range  to  Monterey," 
said  Tucker.  "  Once  there,  one  of  those  coasting  schooners 
will  bring  me  down  to  Acapulco,  where  the  ship  will  put 
in." 

Patterson  remained  silent  for  a  moment.  "  There  's  a 
mustang  in  the  corral  you  can  take  —  leastways,  I  sha'n't 
know  that  it 's  gone  —  until  to-morrow  afternoon.  In  an 
hour  from  now,"  he  added,  looking  from  the  window,  "  these 
clouds  will  settle  down  to  business.  It  will  rain  ;  there 
will  be  light  enough  for  you  to  find  your  way  by  the  regular 
trail  over  the  mountain,  but  not  enough  for  any  one  to  know 
you.  If  you  can't  push  through  to-night,  you  can  lie  over 
at  the  posada  on  the  summit.  Them  greasers  that  keep  it 
won't  know  you,  and  if  they  did  they  won't  go  back  on  you. 
And  if  they  did  go  back  on  you,  nobody  would  believe 
them.  It 's  mighty  curious,"  he  added,  with  gloomy  philoso- 
phy, "  but  I  reckon  it 's  the  reason  why  Providence  allows 
this  kind  of  cattle  to  live  among  white  men  and  others  made 
in  his  image.  Take  a  piece  of  pie,  won't  you  ?  "  he  con- 
tinued, abandoning  this  abstract  reflection  and  producing  half 
a  flat  pumpkin  pie  from  the  bar.  Spencer  Tucker  grasped 
the  pie  with  one  hand  and  his  friend's  fingers  with  the  other, 
and  for  a  few  moments  was  silent  from  the  hurried  degluti-- 
tion  of  viand  and  sentiment.  "  You  're  a  white  man,  Pat- 


158  A   BLUE   GEASS   PENELOPE 

terson,  anyway,"  he  resumed.  "  I  '11  take  your  horse,  and 
put  it  down  in  our  account  at  your  own  figure.  As  soon  as 
this  cursed  thing  is  blown  over,  I  '11  be  back  here  and  see 
you  through,  you  bet !  I  don't  desert  my  friends,  however 
rough  things  go  with  me." 

"  I  see  you  don't,"  returned  Patterson,  with  an  uncon- 
scious and  serious  simplicity  that  had  the  effect  of  the  most 
exquisite  irony.  "  I  was  only  just  saying  to  the  sheriff 
that  if  there  was  anything  I  could  have  done  for  you,  you 
would  n't  have  cut  away  without  letting  me  know."  Tucker 
glanced  uneasily  at  Patterson,  who  continued,  "Ye  ain't 
wanting  anything  else  ?  "  Then  observing  that  his  former 
friend  and  patron  was  roughly  but  newly  clothed,  and  be- 
trayed no  trace  of  his  last  escapade,  he  added,  "  I  see  you  've 
got  a  fresh  harness." 

"  That  d — d  Chinaman  bought  me  these  at  the  landing. 
They  're  not  much  in  style  or  fit,"  he  continued,  trying  to 
get  a  moonlight  view  of  himself  in  the  mirror  behind  the 
bar,  "  but  that  don't  matter  here."  He  filled  another  glass 
of  spirits,  jauntily  settled  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and 
added,  "  I  don't  suppose  there  are  any  girls  around,  any- 
way." 

"  'Cept  your  wife ;  she  was  down  here  this  afternoon," 
said  Patterson  meditatively. 

Mr.  Tucker  paused  with  the  pie  in  his  hand.  "  Ah, 
yes  ! "  He  essayed  a  reckless  laugh,  but  that  evident  simu- 
lation failed  before  Patterson's  melancholy.  With  an  as- 
sumption of  falling  in  with  his  friend's  manner,  rather  than 
from  any  personal  anxiety,  he  continued,  "  Well  ?  " 

"  That  man  Poindexter  was  down  here  with  her.  Put 
her  in  the  hacienda  to  hold  possession  afore  the  news  came 
out." 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  Tucker,  rising  hastily.  "  It  don't 
belong  —  that  is  "  —  he  hesitated. 

"  Yer  thinking  the  creditors  '11  get  it,  mebbe,"  returned 


A   BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  159 

Patterson,  gazing  at  the  floor.  "  Not  as  long  as  she  's  in 
it ;  no,  sir  !  Whether  it 's  really  hers,  or  she 's  only  keep- 
ing house  for  Poindexter,  she  's  a  fixture,  you  bet.  They 
are  a  team  when  they  pull  together,  they  are  !  " 

The  smile  slowly  faded  from  Tucker's  face,  that  now 
looked  quite  rigid  in  the  moonlight.  He  put  down  his 
glass,  and  walked  to  the  window  as  Patterson  gloomily 
continued :  "  But  that 's  nothing  to  you.  You  've  got 
ahead  of  'em  both,  and  had  your  revenge  by  going  off  with 
the  gal.  That 's  what  I  said  all  along.  When  folks  —  spe- 
cially women  folks  —  wondered  how  you  could  leave  a  wo- 
man like  your  wife,  and  go  off  with  a  scallawag  like  that 
gal,  I  allers  said  they  'd  find  out  there  was  a  reason.  And 
when  your  wife  came  flaunting  down  here  with  Poindexter 
before  she  'd  quite  got  quit  of  you,  I  reckon  they  began  to 
see  the  whole  little  game.  No,  sir  !  I  knew  it  was  n't  on 
account  of  the  gal !  Why,  when  you  came  here  to-night 
and  told  me  quite  nat'ral-like  and  easy  how  she  went  off  in 
the  ship,  and  then  calmly  ate  your  pie  and  drank  your 
whiskey  after  it,  I  knew  you  did  n't  care  for  her.  There  's 
my  hand,  Spence  ;  you  're  a  trump,  even  if  you  are  a  little 
looney,  eh  ?  Why,  what 's  up  ?  " 

Shallow  and  selfish  as  Tucker  was,  Patterson's  words 
seemed  like  a  revelation,  that  shocked  him  as  profoundly 
as  it  might  have  shocked  a  nobler  nature.  The  simple 
vanity  and  selfishness  that  made  him  unable  to  conceive 
ally  higher  reason  for  his  wife's  loyalty  than  his  own  per- 
sonal popularity  and  success,  now  that  he  no  longer  pos- 
sessed that  eclat,  made  him  equally  capable  of  the  lowest 
suspicions.  He  was  a  dishonored  fugitive,  broken  in  for- 
tune and  reputation  —  why  should  she  not  desert  him  ? 
He  had  been  unfaithful  to  her  from  wildness,  from  caprice, 
from  the  effect  of  those  fascinating  qualities  ;  it  seemed  to 
him  natural  that  she  should  be  disloyal  from  more  deliberate 
motives,  and  he  hugged  himself  with  that  belief.  Yet 


160  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

there  was  enough  doubt,  enough  of  haunting  suspicion,  that 
he  had  lost  or  alienated  a  powerful  affection,  to  make  him 
thoroughly  miserable.  He  returned  his  friend's  grasp  con- 
vulsively, and  buried  his  face  upon  his  shoulder.  But  he 
was  not  above  feeling  a  certain  exultation  in  the  effect  of  his 
misery  upon  the  dog-like,  unreasoning  affection  of  Patterson, 
nor  could  he  entirely  refrain  from  slightly  posing  his  afflic- 
tion before  that  sympathetic  but  melancholy  man.  Sud- 
denly he  raised  his  head,  drew  back,  and  thrust  his  hand 
into  his  bosom  with  a  theatrical  gesture. 

"  What 's  to  keep  me  from  killing  Poindexter  in  his 
tracks  ?  "  he  said  wildly. 

"Nothin'  but  his  shooting  first,"  returned  Patterson, 
•with  dismal  practicality.  "  He 's  mighty  quick,  like  all 
them  army  men.  It 's  about  even,  I  reckon,  that  he  don't 
get  me  first,"  he  added  in  an  ominous  voice. 

"  No ! "  returned  Tucker,  grasping  his  hand  again. 
"  This  is  not  your  affair,  Patterson  ;  leave  him  to  me  when 
I  come  back." 

"  If  he  ever  gets  the  drop  on  me,  I  reckon  he  won't 
wait,"  continued  Patterson  lugubriously.  "  He  seems  to 
object  to  my  passin'  criticism  on  your  wife,  as  if  she  was  a 
queen  or  an  angel." 

The  blood  came  to  Spencer's  cheek,  and  he  turned  un- 
easily to  the  window.  "  It 's  dark  enough  now  for  a  start," 
he  said  hurriedly,  "  and  if  I  could  get  across  the  mountain 
without  lying  over  at  the  summit,  it  would  be  a  day 
gained." 

Patterson  arose  without  a  word,  filled  a  flask  of  spirit, 
handed  it  to  his  friend,  and  silently  led  the  way  through 
the  slowly  falling  rain  and  the  now  settled  darkness.  The 
mustang  was  quickly  secured  and  saddled  ;  a  heavy  poncho 
afforded  Tucker  a  disguise  as  well  as  a  protection  from  the 
rain.  With  a  few  hurried,  disconnected  words,  and  an 
abstracted  air,  he  once  more  shook  his  friend's  hand,  and 


A   BLUE   GEASS   PENELOPE  161 

issued  cautiously  from  the  corral.  When  out  of  earshot 
from  the  house  he  put  spurs  to  the  mustang,  and  dashed 
into  a  gallop. 

To  intersect  the  mountain  road  he  was  obliged  to  trav- 
erse part  of  the  highway  his  wife  had  walked  that  after- 
noon, and  to  pass  within  a  mile  of  the  casa  where  she  was. 
Long  before  he  reached  that  point  his  eyes  were  straining 
the  darkness  in  that  direction  for  some  indication  of  the 
house  which  was  to  him  familiar.  Becoming  now  accus- 
tomed to  the  even  obscurity,  less  trying  to  the  vision  than 
the  alternate  light  and  shadow  of  cloud  or  the  full  glare  of 
the  moonlight,  he  fancied  he  could  distinguish  its  low  walls 
over  the  monotonous  level.  One  of  those  impulses  which 
had  so  often  taken  the  place  of  resolution  in  his  character 
suddenly  possessed  him  to  diverge  from  his  course  and 
approach  the  house.  Why,  he  could  not  have  explained. 
It  was  not  from  any  feeling  of  jealous  suspicion  or  con- 
templated revenge  —  that  had  passed  with  the  presence  of 
Patterson ;  it  was  not  from  any  vague  lingering  sentiment 
for  the  woman  he  had  wronged  —  he  would  have  shrunk 
from  meeting  her  at  that  moment.  But  it  was  full  of  these 
and  more  possibilities  by  which  he  might  or  might  not  be 
guided,  and  was  at  least  a  movement  towards  some  vague 
end,  and  a  distraction  from  certain  thoughts  he  dared  not 
entertain  and  could  not  entirely  dismiss.  Inconceivable 
and  inexplicable  to  human  reason,  it  might  have  been 
acceptable  to  the  Divine  omniscience  for  its  predestined 
result. 

He  left  the  road  at  a  point  where  the  marsh  encroached 
upon  the  meadow,  familiar  to  him  already  as  near  the  spot 
where  he  had  debarked  from  the  Chinaman's  boat  the  day 
before.  He  remembered  that  the  walls  of  the  hacienda 
were  distinctly  visible  from  the  tules  where  he  had  hidden 
all  day,  and  he  now  knew  that  the  figures  he  had  observed 
near  the  building,  which  had  deterred  his  first  attempts  at 


162  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

landing,  must  have  been  his  wife  and  his  friend.  He  knew 
that  a  long  tongue  of  the  slough  filled  by  the  rising  tide 
followed  the  marsh,  and  lay  between  him  and  the  hacienda. 
The  sinking  of  his  horse's  hoofs  in  the  spongy  soil  deter- 
mined its  proximity,  and  he  made  a  detour  to  the  right  to 
avoid  it.  In  doing  so,  a  light  suddenly  rose  above  the  dis- 
tant horizon  ahead  of  him,  trembled  faintly,  and  then  burned 
with  a  steady  lustre.  It  was  a  light  at  the  hacienda. 
Guiding  his  horse  half  abstractedly  in  this  direction,  his 
progress  was  presently  checked  by  the  splashing  of  the  ani- 
mal's hoofs  in  the  water.  But  the  turf  below  was  firm,  and 
a  salt  drop  that  had  spattered  to  his  lips  told  him  that  it 
was  only  the  encroaching  of  the  tide  in  the  meadow.  With 
his  eyes  on  the  light,  he  again  urged  his  horse  forward. 
The  rain  lulled,  the  clouds  began  to  break,  the  landscape 
alternately  lightened  and  grew  dark  ;  the  outlines  of  the 
crumbling  hacienda  walls  that  enshrined  the  light  grew  more 
visible.  A  strange  and  dreamy  resemblance  to  the  long 
blue-grass  plain  before  his  wife's  paternal  house,  as  seen  by 
him  during  his  evening  rides  to  courtship,  pressed  itself 
upon  him.  He  remembered,  too,  that  she  used  to  put  a 
light  in  the  window  to  indicate  her  presence.  Following 
this  retrospect,  the  moon  came  boldly  out,  sparkled  upon 
the  overflow  of  silver  at  his  feet,  seemed  to  show  the  dark, 
opaque  meadow  beyond  for  a  moment,  and  then  disappeared. 
It  was  dark  now,  but  the  lesser  earthly  star  still  shone 
before  him  as  a  guide,  and  pushing  towards  it,  he  passed  in 
the  all-embracing  shadow. 

rv 

As  Mrs.  Tucker,  erect,  white,  and  rigid,  drove  away  from 
the  tienda,  it  seemed  to  her  to  sink  again  into  the  monoto- 
nous plain,  with  all  its  horrible  realities.  Except  that  there 
was  now  a  new  and  heart-breaking  significance  to  the  soli- 


A  BLUE   GEASS   PENELOPE  163 

tude  and  loneliness  of  the  landscape,  all  that*  had  passed 
might  have  been  a  dream.  But  as  the  blood  came  back  to 
her  cheek,  and  little  by  little  her  tingling  consciousness 
returned,  it  seemed  as  if  her  life  had  been  the  dream,  and 
this  last  scene  the  awakening  reality.  With  eyes  smarting 
with  the  moisture  of  shame,  the  scarlet  blood  at  times  dye- 
ing her  very  neck  and  temples,  she  muffled  her  lowered 
crest  in  her  shawl,  and  bent  over  the  reins.  Bit  by  bit  she 
recalled,  in  Poindexter's  mysterious  caution  and  strange 
allusions,  the  corroboration  of  her  husband's  shame  and  her 
own  disgrace.  This  was  why  she  was  brought  hither  —  the 
deserted  wife,  the  abandoned  confederate !  The  mocking 
glitter  of  the  concave  vault  above  her,  scoured  by  the  in- 
cessant wind,  the  cold  stare  of  the  shining  pools  beyond,  the 
hard  outlines  of  the  Coast  Range,  and  the  jarring  accom- 
paniment of  her  horse's  hoofs  and  rattling  buggy-wheels, 
alternately  goaded  and  distracted  her.  She  found  herself 
repeating  "  No  !  no  !  no  !  "  with  the  dogged  reiteration  of 
fever.  She  scarcely  knew  when  or  how  she  reached  the 
hacienda.  She  was  only  conscious  that  as  she  entered  the 
patio  the  dusky  solitude  that  had  before  filled  her  with  un- 
rest now  came  to  her  like  balm.  A  benumbing  peace 
seemed  to  fall  from  the  crumbling  walls ;  the  peace  of  utter 
seclusion,  isolation,  oblivion,  death  !  Nevertheless,  an  hour 
later,  when  the  jingle  of  spurs  and  bridle  were  again  heard 
in  the  road,  she  started  to  her  feet  with  bent  brows  and  a 
kindling  eye,  and  confronted  Captain  Poindexter  in  the 
corridor. 

"  I  would  not  have  intruded  upon  you  so  soon  again,"  he 
said  gravely,  "  but  I  thought  I  might  perhaps  spare  you 
a  repetition  of  the  scene  of  this  morning.  Hear  me  out, 
please,"  he  added,  with  a  gentle,  half-deprecating  gesture, 
as  she  lifted  the  beautiful  scorn  of  her  eyes  to  his.  "  I 
have  just  heard  that  your  neighbor,  Don  Jose  Santierra,  of 
Los  Gatos,  is  on  his  way  to  this  house.  He  once  claimed 


164  A   BLUE   GEASS   PENELOPE 

this  land,  aild  hated  your  husband,  who  bought  of  the  rival 
claimant,  whose  grant  was  confirmed.  I  tell  you  this,"  he 
added,  slightly  flushing  as  Mrs.  Tucker  turned  impatiently 
away,  "  only  to  show  you  that  legally  he  has  no  rights,  and 
you  need  not  see  him  unless  you  choose.  I  could  not  stop 
his  coming  without  perhaps  doing  you  more  harm  than 
good  ;  but  when  he  does  come,  my  presence  under  this  roof 
as  your  legal  counsel  will  enable  you  to  refer  him  to  me." 
He  stopped.  She  was  pacing  the  corridor  with  short,  im- 
patient steps,  her  arms  dropped,  and  her  hands  clasped 
rigidly  before  her.  "  Have  I  your  permission  to  stay  ?  " 

She  suddenly  stopped  in  her  walk,  approached  him 
rapidly,  and  fixing  her  eyes  on  his,  said,  — 

"  Do  I  know  all,  now  —  everything  ?  " 

He  could  only  reply  that  she  had  not  yet  told  him  what 
she  had  heard. 

"  Well,"  she  said  scornfully,  "  that  my  husband  has 
been  cruelly  imposed  upon  —  imposed  upon  by  some 
wretched  woman,  who  has  made  him  sacrifice  his  property, 
his  friends,  his  honor  —  everything  but  me  !  " 

"  Everything  but  whom  ?  "  gasped  Poindexter. 

"  But  ME  !  " 

Poindexter  gazed  at  the  sky,  the  air,  the  deserted  cor- 
ridor, the  stones  of  the  patio  itself,  and  then  at  the  inex- 
plicable woman  before  him.  Then  he  said  gravely,  "  I 
think  you  know  everything." 

"  Then  if  my  husband  has  left  me  all  he  could  —  this 
property,"  she  went  on  rapidly,  twisting  her  handkerchief 
between  her  fingers,  "  I  can  do  with  it  what  I  like,  can't 
I?" 

"  You  certainly  can." 

"  Then  sell  it,"  she  said  with  passionate  vehemence. 
"  Sell  it  —  all  !  everything  !  And  sell  these."  She  darted 
into  her  bedroom,  and  returned  with  the  diamond  rings  she 
had  torn  from  her  fingers  and  ears  when  she  entered  the 


A  BLUE   GEASS   PENELOPE  165 

house.  "  Sell  them  for  anything  they  '11  bring,  only  sell 
them  at  once." 

"  But  for  what  ? "  asked  Poindexter,  with  demure  lips 
but  twinkling  eyes. 

"  To  pay  the  debts  that  this  —  this  —  woman  has  led 
him  into  ;  to  return  the  money  she  has  stolen  !  "  she  went 
on  rapidly  ;  "  to  keep  him  from  sharing  infamy !  Can't 
you  understand  ?  " 

"  But,  my  dear  madam,"  began  Poindexter,  "  even  if 
this  could  be  done  "  — 

"Don't  tell  me  'if  it  could' — it  must  be  done.  Do 
you  think  I  could  sleep  under  this  roof,  propped  up  by  the 
timbers  of  that  ruined  tienda  ?  Do  you  think  I  could 
wear  those  diamonds  again,  while  that  termagant  shopwoman 
can  say  that  her  money  bought  them  ?  No  !  If  you  are 
my  husband's  friend,  you  will  do  this  —  for  —  for  his  sake." 
She  stopped,  locked  and  interlocked  her  cold  fingers  before 
her,  and  said,  hesitating  and  mechanically,  "  You  meant 
well,  Captain  Poindexter,  in  bringing  me  here,  I  know ! 
You  must  not  think  that  I  blame  you  for  it,  or  for  the  mis- 
erable result  of  it  that  you  have  just  witnessed.  But  if  I 
have  gained  anything  by  it,  for  God's  sake  let  me  reap  it 
quickly,  that  I  may  give  it  to  these  people  and  go  !  I  have 
a  friend  who  can  aid  me  to  get  to  my  husband  or  to  my 
home  in  Kentucky,  where  Spencer  will  yet  find  me,  I 
know.  I  want  nothing  more."  She  stopped  again.  With 
another  woman  the  pause  would  have  been  one  of  tears. 
But  she  kept  her  head  above  the  flood  that  filled  her  heart, 
and  the  clear  eyes  fixed  upon  Poindexter,  albeit  pained, 
were  undimmed. 

"  But  this  would  require  time,"  said  Poindexter,  with  a 
smile  of  compassionate  explanation  ;  "  you  could  not  sell 
now,  nobody  would  buy.  You  are  safe  to  hold  this  prop- 
erty while  you  are  in  actual  possession,  but  you  are  not 
strong  enough  to  guarantee  it  to  another.  There  may  still 


166  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

be  litigation  ;  your  husband  has  other  creditors  than  these  peo- 
ple you  have  talked  with.     But  while  nobody  could  oust  you 

—  the  wife  who  would  have  the  sympathies  of  judge  and  jury 

—  it  might  be  a  different  case  with  any  one  who  derived 
title  from  you.     Any  purchaser  would  know  that  you  could 
not  sell,  or  if  you  did,  it  would  be  at  a  ridiculous  sacrifice." 

She  listened  to  him  abstractedly,  walked  to  the  end  of 
the  corridor,  returned,  and  without  looking  up,  said,  — 

"  I  suppose  you  know  her  ?  " 

"I  beg  your  pardon  ?  " 

"  This  woman.     You  have  seen  her  ?  " 

"  Never,  to  my  knowledge." 

"And  you  are  his  friend !  That 's  strange."  She  raised 
her  eyes  to  his.  "  Well,"  she  continued  impatiently,  "  who 
is  she  ?  and  what  is  she  ?  You  know  that  surely." 

"  I  know  no  more  of  her  than  what  I  have  said,"  said 
Poindexter.  "  She  is  a  notorious  woman." 

The  swift  color  came  to  Mrs.  Tucker's  face  as  if  the 
epithet  had  been  applied  to  herself.  "  I  suppose,"  she  said 
in  a  dry  voice,  as  if  she  were  asking  a  business  question, 
but  with  an  eye  that  showed  her  rising  anger,  —  "I  suppose 
there  is  some  law  by  which  creatures  of  this  kind  can  be 
followed  and  brought  to  justice  —  some  law  that  would 
keep  innocent  people  from  suffering  for  their  crimes  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Poindexter,  "  that  arresting  her 
"would  hardly  help  these  people  over  in  the  tienda." 

"I  am  not  speaking  of  them,"  responded  Mrs.  Tucker, 
with  a  sudden  sublime  contempt  for  the  people  whose 
cause  she  had  espoused ;  "  I  am  talking  of  my  husband." 

Poindexter  bit  his  lip.  "  You  'd  hardly  think  of  bring- 
ing back  the  strongest  witness  against  him,"  he  said  bluntly. 

Mrs.  Tucker  dropped  her  eyes  and  was  silent.  A  sudden 
shame  suffused  Poindexter' s  cheek ;  he  felt  as  if  he  had 
struck  that  woman  a  blow.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said 
hastily;  "I  am  talking  like  a  lawyer  to  a  lawyer."  He 


A  BLUE   GKASS   PENELOPE  167 

would  have  taken  any  other  woman  by  the  hand  in  the 
honest  fullness  of  his  apology,  but  something  restrained 
him  here.  He  only  looked  down  gently  on  her  lowered 
lashes,  and  repeated  his  question  if  he  should  remain  dur- 
ing the  coming  interview  with  Don  Josd.  "  I  must  beg 
you  to  determine  quickly,"  he  added,  "  for  I  already  hear 
him  entering  the  gate." 

"  Stay,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker,  as  the  ringing  of  spurs  and 
clatter  of  hoofs  came  from  the  corral.  "One  moment." 
She  looked  up  suddenly,  and  said,  "  How  long  had  he 
known  her  ? "  But  before  he  could  reply  there  was  a 
step  in  the  doorway,  and  the  figure  of  Don  Jose  Santierra 
emerged  from  the  archway. 

He  was  a  man  slightly  past  middle  age,  fair,  and  well 
shaven,  wearing  a  black  broadcloth  serape,  the  deeply  em- 
broidered opening  of  which  formed  a  collar  of  silver  rays 
around  his  neck,  while  a  row  of  silver  buttons  down  the 
side  seams  of  his  riding-trousers,  and  silver  spurs  completed 
his  singular  equipment.  Mrs.  Tucker's  swift  feminine 
glance  took  in  these  details,  as  well  as  the  deep  salutation, 
more  formal  than  the  exuberant  frontier  politeness  she  was 
accustomed  to,  with  which  he  greeted  her.  It  was  enough 
to  arrest  her  first  impulse  to  retreat.  She  hesitated  and 
stopped  as  Poindexter  stepped  forward,  partly  interposing 
between  them,  acknowledging  Don  Jose's  distant  recogni- 
tion of  himself  with  an  ironical  accession  of  his  usual  hu- 
morous tolerance.  The  Spaniard  did  not  seem  to  notice  it, 
but  remained  gravely  silent  before  Mrs.  Tucker,  gazing  at 
her  with  an  expression  of  intent  and  unconscious  absorption. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Don  Jose,"  said  Poindexter,  with 
ironical  concern,  "  it  is  Mrs.  Tucker.  Your  eyes  do  not 
deceive  you.  She  will  be  glad  to  do  the  honors  of  her 
house,"  he  continued,  with  a  simulation  of  appealing  to 
her,  "  unless  you  visit  her  on  business,  when  I  need  not 
say  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  attend  you,  as  before." 


168  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

Don  Jose,  with  a  slight  lifting  of  the  eyebrows,  allowed 
himself  to  become  conscious  of  the  lawyer's  meaning.  "  It 
is  not  of  business  that  I  come  to  kiss  the  senora's  hand 
to-day,"  he  replied,  with  a  melancholy  softness ;  "  it  is  as 
her  neighbor,  to  put  myself  at  her  disposition.  Ah  !  what 
have  we  here  fit  for  a  lady  ?  "  he  continued,  raising  his 
eyes  in  deprecation  of  the  surroundings ;  "  a  house  of  no- 
thing, a  place  of  winds  and  dry  bones,  without  refreshments, 
or  satisfaction,  or  delicacy.  The  senora  will  not  refuse  to 
make  us  proud  this  day  to  send  her  of  that  which  we  have 
in  our  poor  home  at  Los  Gatos,  to  make  her  more  complete. 
Of  what  shall  it  be  ?  Let  her  make  choice.  Or  if  she 
would  commemorate  this  day  by  accepting  of  our  hospital- 
ity at  Los  Gatos,  until  she  shall  arrange  herself  the  more 
to  receive  us  here,  we  shall  have  too  much  honor." 

"  The  sefiora  would  only  find  it  the  more  difficult  to 
return  to  this  humble  roof  again,  after  once  leaving  it  for 
Don  Jose''s  hospitality,"  said  Poindexter,  with  a  demure 
glance  at  Mrs.  Tucker.  But  the  innuendo  seemed  to  lapse 
equally  unheeded  by  his  fair  client  and  the  stranger.  Rais- 
ing her  eyes  with  a  certain  timid  dignity  which  Don  Josd's 
presence  seemed  to  have  called  out,  she  addressed  herself  to 
him. 

"  You  are  very  kind  and  considerate,  Mister  Santierra, 
and  I  thank  you.  I  know  that  my  husband  "  —  she  let  the 
clear  beauty  of  her  translucent  eyes  rest  full  on  both  men  — 
t(  would  thank  you  too.  But  I  shall  not  be  here  long  enough 
to  accept  your  kindness  in  this  house  nor  in  your  own.  I 
have  but  one  desire  and  object  now.  It  is  to  dispose  of  this 
property,  and  indeed  all  I  possess,  to  pay  the  debt  of  my 
husband.  It  is  in  your  power,  perhaps,  to  help  me.  I  am 
told  that  you  wish  to  possess  Los  Cuervos,"  she  went  on, 
equally  oblivious  of  the  consciousness  that  appeared  in  Don 
Josd's  face,  and  a  humorous  perplexity  on  the  brow  of 
Poindexter.  "  If  you  can  arrange  it  with  Mr.  Poindexter, 


A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  169 

you  will  find  me  a  liberal  vendor.  That  much  you  can  do, 
and  I  know  you  will  believe  I  shall  be  grateful.  You  can 
do  no  more,  unless  it  be  to  say  to  your  friends  that  Mrs. 
Belle  Tucker  remains  here  only  for  that  purpose,  and  to 
carry  out  what  she  knows  to  be  the  wishes  of  her  husband." 
She  paused,  bent  her  pretty  crest,  dropped  a  quaint  curtsey 
to  the  superior  age,  the  silver  braid,  and  the  gentlemanly 
bearing  of  Don  Josd,  and  with  the  passing  sunshine  of  a 
smile  disappeared  from  the  corridor. 

The  two  men  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  Don  Jose 
gazing  abstractedly  on  the  door  through  which  she  had  van- 
ished, until  Poindexter,  with  a  return  of  his  tolerant  smile, 
said,  "  You  have  heard  the  views  of  Mrs.  Tucker.  You 
know  the  situation  as  well  as  she  does." 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  possibly  better." 

Poindexter  darted  a  quick  glance  at  the  grave,  sallow  face 
of  Don  Jose",  but,  detecting  no  unusual  significance  in  his 
manner,  continued,  "  As  you  see,  she  leaves  this  matter  in 
my  hands.  Let  us  talk  like  business  men.  Have  you  any 
idea  of  purchasing  this  property  ?  " 

"  Of  purchasing  ?  ah,  no." 

Poindexter  bent  his  brows,  but  quickly  relaxed  them  with 
a  smile  of  humorous  forgiveness.  "If  you  have  any  other 
idea,  Don  Jos6,  I  ought  to  warn  you,  as  Mrs.  Tucker's  law- 
yer, that  she  is  in  legal  possession  here,  and  that  nothing 
but  her  own  act  can  change  that  position." 

"  Ah,  so." 

Irritated  at  the  shrug  which  accompanied  this,  Poindexter 
continued  haughtily,  "  If  I  am  to  understand,  you  have  no- 
thing to  say  "  — 

"  To  say,  ah,  yes,  possibly.  But "  —  he  glanced  toward 
the  door  of  Mrs.  Tucker's  room  —  "  not  here."  He  stopped, 
appeared  to  recall  himself,  and,  with  an  apologetic  smile  and 
a  studied  but  graceful  gesture  of  invitation,  he  motioned  to 
the  gateway,  and  said,  "  Will  you  ride  ?  " 


170  A  BLUE   GEASS  PENELOPE 

"  What  can  the  fellow  be  up  to  ?  "  muttered  Poindexter, 
as  with  an  assenting  nod  he  proceeded  to  remount  his  horse. 
"  If  he  was  n't  an  old  hidalgo,  I  'd  mistrust  him.  No  mat- 
ter !  here  goes  !  " 

The  don  also  remounted  his  half-hroken  mustang;  they 
proceeded  in  solemn  silence  through  the  corral,  and  side  by 
side  emerged  on  the  open  plain.  Poindexter  glanced  round  ; 
no  other  being  was  in  sight.  It  was  not  until  the  lonely 
hacienda  had  also  sunk  behind  them  that  Don  Jose  broke 
the  silence. 

"  You  say  just  now  we  shall  speak  as  business  men.  I 
say  no,  Don  Marco ;  I  will  not.  I  shall  speak,  we  shall 
speak,  as  gentlemen." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Poindexter,  who  was  beginning  to  be 
amused. 

"  I  say  just  now  I  will  not  purchase  the  rancho  from  the 
senora.  And  why  ?  Look  you,  Don  Marco,"  —  he  reined 
in  his  horse,  thrust  his  hand  under  his  serape,  and  drew  out 
a  folded  document,  —  "  this  is  why." 

With  a  smile,  Poindexter  took  the  paper  from  his  hand 
and  opened  it.  But  the  smile  faded  from  his  lips  as  he 
read.  With  blazing  eyes  he  spurred  his  horse  beside  the 
Spaniard,  almost  unseating  him,  and  said  sternly,  "  What 
does  this  mean  ?  " 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  "  repeated  Don  Jose,  with  equally 
flashing  eyes  ;  "  I  '11  tell  you.  It  means  that  your  client, 
this  man  Spencer  Tucker,  is  a  Judas,  a  traitor  !  It  means 
that  he  gave  Los  Cuervos  to  his  mistress  a  year  ago,  and 
that  she  sold  it  to  me  —  to  me,  you  hear  !  —  me,  Jose  San- 
tierra,  the  day  before  she  left !  It  means  that  the  coyote 
of  a  Spencer,  the  thief,  who  bought  these  lands  of  a  thief 
and  gave  them  to  a  thief,  has  tricked  you  all.  Look,"  he 
said,  rising  in  his  saddle,  holding  the  paper  like  a  baton, 
and  denning  with  a  sweep  of  his  arm  the  whole  level  plain  ; 
"  all  these  lands  were  once  mine  —  they  are  mine  again  to- 


A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  171 

day.  Do  I  want  to  purchase  Los  Cuervos  ?  you  ask,  for 
you  will  speak  of  the  business.  Well,  listen.  I  have  pur- 
chased Los  Cuervos,  and  here  is  the  deed." 

"  But  it  has  never  been  recorded,"  said  Poindexter,  with 
a  carelessness  he  was  far  f*)m  feeling. 

"  Of  a  verity,  no.  Do  you  wish  that  I  should  record 
it  ?  "  asked  Don  Jose,  with  a  return  of  his  simple  gravity. 

Poindexter  bit  his  lip.  "  You  said  we  were  to  talk  like 
gentlemen,"  he  returned.  "  Do  you  think  you  have  come 
into  possession  of  this  alleged  deed  like  a  gentleman  ?  " 

Don  Jose  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  found  it  tossed 
in  the  lap  of  a  harlot.  I  bought  it  for  a  song.  Eh,  what 
would  you  ?  " 

"  Would  you  sell  it  again  for  a  song  ?  "  asked  Poindexter. 

"  Ah !  what  is  this  ?  "  said  Don  Josd,  lifting  his  iron- 
gray  brows  ;  "  but  a  moment  ago  we  would  sell  everything, 
for  any  money.  Now  we  would  buy.  Is  it  so  ?  " 

"One  moment,  Don  Jose,"  said  Poindexter,  with  a  bale- 
ful light  in  his  dark  eyes.  "  Do  I  understand  that  you  are 
the  ally  of  Spencer  Tucker  and  his  mistress,  that  you  intend 
to  turn  this  doubly  betrayed  wife  from  the  only  roof  she 
has  to  cover  her  ?  " 

"  Ah,  I  comprehend  not.  You  heard  her  say  she  wished 
to  go.  Perhaps  it  may  please  me  to  distribute  largess  to 
these  cattle  yonder,  —  I  do  not  say  no.  More  she  does  not 
ask.  But  you,  Don  Marco,  of  whom  are  you  advocate  ? 
You  abandon  your  client's  mistress  for  the  wife,  is  it  so  ?  " 

"  What  I  may  do  you  will  learn  hereafter,"  said  Poin- 
dexter, who  had  regained  his  composure,  suddenly  reining 
up  his  horse.  "  As  our  paths  seem  likely  to  diverge,  they 
had  better  begin  now.  Good-morning." 

"  Patience,  my  friend,  patience !  Ah,  blessed  St.  An- 
thony, what  these  Americans  are  !  Listen.  For  what  you 
shall  do,  I  do  not  inquire.  The  question  is  to  me  what  I  " 
—  he  emphasized  the  pronoun  by  tapping  himself  on  the 


172  A   BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

breast— "I,  Jose  Santierra,  will  do.  Well,  I  shall  tell 
you.  To-day,  nothing.  To-morrow,  nothing.  For  a  week, 
for  a  month,  nothing !  After,  we  shall  see." 

Poindexter  paused  thoughtfully.  "  Will  you  give  your 
word,  Don  Jose,  that  you  will  not  press  the  claim  for  a 
month  ?  " 

"  Truly,  on  one  condition.  Observe  !  I  do  not  ask  you 
for  an  equal  promise,  that  you  will  not  take  this  time  to 
defend  yourself."  He  shrugged  his  shoulder.  "No!  It 
is  only  this.  You  shall  promise  that  during  that  time  the 
Senora  Tucker  shall  remain  ignorant  of  this  document." 

Poindexter  hesitated  a  moment.  "  I  promise,"  he  said 
at  last. 

"  Good.     Adios,  Don  Marco." 

"  Adios,  Don  Jose*." 

The  Spaniard  put  spurs  to  his  mustang  and  galloped  off 
in  the  direction  of  Los  Gatos.  The  lawyer  remained  for 
a  moment  gazing  on  his  retreating  but  victorious  figure. 
For  the  first  time  the  old  look  of  humorous  toleration  with 
which  Mr.  Poindexter  was  in  the  habit  of  regarding  all  hu- 
man infirmity  gave  way  to  something  like  bitterness.  "  I 
might  have  guessed  it,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  rise  of  color. 
"He's  an  old  fool;  and  she  —  well,  perhaps  it's  all  the 
better  for  her !  "  He  glanced  backwards  almost  tenderly  in 
the  direction  of  Los  Cuervos,  and  then  turned  his  head  to- 
wards the  embarcadero. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  on,  a  creaking,  antiquated  ox-cart 
arrived  at  Los  Cuervos,  bearing  several  articles  of  furniture 
and  some  tasteful  ornaments  from  Los  Gatos,  at  the  same 
time  that  a  young  Mexican  girl  mysteriously  appeared  in 
the  kitchen,  as  a  temporary  assistant  to  the  decrepit  Concha. 
These  were  both  clearly  attributable  to  Don  Jose,  whose  visit 
was  not  so  remote  but  that  these  delicate  attentions  might 
have  been  already  projected  before  Mrs.  Tucker  had  declined 
them,  and  she  could  not,  without  marked  discourtesy,  return 


A  BLUE   GEASS   PENELOPE  173 

them  now.  She  did  not  wish  to  seem  discourteous;  she 
would  like  to  have  been  more  civil  to  this  old  gentleman, 
who  still  retained  the  evidences  of  a  picturesque  and  decor- 
ous past,  and  a  repose  so  different  from  the  life  that"  was 
perplexing  her.  Reflecting  that  if  he  bought  the  estate 
these  things  would  be  ready  to  his  hand,  and  with  a 
woman's  instinct  recognizing  their  value  in  setting  off  the 
house  to  other  purchasers'  eyes,  she  took  a  pleasure  in  taste- 
fully arranging  them,  and  even  found  herself  speculating 
how  she  might  have  enjoyed  them  herself  had  she  been 
able  to  keep  possession  of  the  property.  After  all,  it  would 
not  have  been  so  lonely  if  refined  and  gentle  neighbors,  like 
this  old  man,  would  have  sympathized  with  her ;  she  had 
an  instinctive  feeling  that,  in  their  own  hopeless  decay  and 
hereditary  unfitness  for  this  new  civilization,  they  would 
have  been  more  tolerant  of  her  husband's  failure  than  his 
own  kind.  She  could  not  believe  that  Don  Jose  really  hated 
her  husband  for  buying  of  the  successful  claimant,  as  there 
was  no  other  legal  title.  Allowing  herself  to  become  inter- 
ested in  the  guileless  gossip  of  the  new  handmaiden,  proud 
of  her  broken  English,  she  was  drawn  into  a  sympathy  with 
the  grave  simplicity  of  Don  Jose's  character,  a  relic  of  that 
true  nobility  which  placed  this  descendant  of  the  Castilians 
and  the  daughter  of  a  free  people  on  the  same  level. 

In  this  way  the  second  day  of  her  occupancy  of  Los 
Cuervos  closed,  with  dumb  clouds  along  the  gray  horizon, 
and  the  paroxysms  of  hysterical  wind  growing  fainter  and 
fainter  outside  the  walls ;  with  the  moon  rising  after  night- 
fall, and  losing  itself  in  silent  and  mysterious  confidences 
with  drifting  scud.  She  went  to  bed  early,  but  woke  past 
midnight,  hearing,  as  she  thought,  her  own  name  called. 
The  impression  was  so  strong  upon  her  that  she  rose,  and, 
hastily  enwrapping  herself,  went  to  the  dark  embrasures  of 
the  oven-shaped  windows  and  looked  out.  The  dwarfed 
oak  beside  the  window  was  still  dropping  from  a  past 


174  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

shower,  but  the  level  waste  of  marsh  and  meadow  beyond 
seemed  to  advance  and  recede  with  the  coming  and  going  of 
the  moon.  Again  she  heard  her  name  called,  and  this  time 
in  accents  so  strangely  familiar  that  with  a  slight  cry  she  ran 
into  the  corridor,  crossed  the  patio,  and  reached  the  open  gate. 
The  darkness  that  had,  even  in  this  brief  interval,  again 
fallen  upon  the  prospect,  she  tried  in  vain  to  pierce  with  eye 
and  voice.  A  blank  silence  followed.  Then  the  veil  was 
suddenly  withdrawn  ;  the  vast  plain,  stretching  from  the 
mountain  to  the  sea,  shone  as  clearly  as  in  the  light  of  day ; 
the  moving  current  of  the  channel  glittered  like  black  pearls, 
the  stagnant  pools  like  molten  lead ;  but  not  a  sign  of  life 
nor  motion  broke  the  monotony  of  the  broad  expanse.  She 
must  have  surely  dreamed  it.  A  chill  wind  drove  her  back 
to  the  house  again ;  she  entered  her  bedroom,  and  in  half 
an  hour  she  was  in  a  peaceful  sleep. 


The  two  men  kept  their  secret.  Mr.  Poindexter  con- 
vinced Mrs.  Tucker  that  the  sale  of  Los  Cuervos  could  not 
be  effected  until  the  notoriety  of  her  husband's  flight  had 
been  fairly  forgotten,  and  she  was  forced  to  accept  her  fate. 
The  sale  of  her  diamonds,  which  seemed  to  her  to  have  real- 
ized a  singularly  extravagant  sum,  enabled  her  to  quietly 
reinstate  the  Pattersons  in  the  tienda  and  to  discharge  in  full 
her  husband's  liabilities  to  the  rancheros  and  his  humbler 
retainers. 

Meanwhile  the  winter  rains  had  ceased.  It  seemed  to 
her  as  if  the  clouds  had  suddenly  one  night  struck  their 
white  tents  and  stolen  away,  leaving  the  unvanquished  sun 
to  mount  the  vacant  sky  the  next  morning  alone,  and 
possess  it  thenceforward  unchallenged.  One  afternoon  she 
thought  the  long  sad  waste  before  her  window  had  caught 


A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  175 

some  tint  of  grayer  color  from  the  sunset ;  a  week  later  she 
found  it  a  blazing  landscape  of  poppies,  broken  here  and 
there  by  blue  lagoons  of  lupine,  by  pools  of  daisies,  by 
banks  of  dog-roses,  by  broad  outlying  shores  of  dandelions 
that  scattered  their  lavish  gold  to  the  foot  of  the  hills,  where 
the  green  billows  of  wild  oats  carried  it  on  and  upwards 
to  the  darker  crests  of  pines.  For  two  months  she  was 
dazzled  and  bewildered  with  color.  She  had  never  before 
been  face  to  face  with  this  spendthrift  Californian  Flora,  in 
her  virgin  wastefulness,  her  more  than  goddess-like  prodi- 
gality. The  teeming  earth  seemed  to  quicken  and  throb 
beneath  her  feet ;  the  few  circuits  of  a  plow  around  the  out- 
lying corral  were  enough  to  call  out  a  jungle  growth  of  giant 
grain  that  almost  hid  the  low  walls  of  the  hacienda.  In 
this  glorious  fecundity  of  the  earth,  in  this  joyous  renewal 
of  life  and  color,  in  this  opulent  youth  and  freshness  of  soil 
and  sky,  it  alone  remained,  the  dead  and  sterile  Past,  left 
in  the  midst  of  buoyant  rejuvenescence  and  resurrection,  like 
an  empty  churchyard  skull  upturned  on  the  springing  turf. 
Its  bronzed  adobe  walls  mocked  the  green  vine  that  em- 
braced them,  the  crumbling  dust  of  its  courtyard  remained 
ungerminating  and  unfruitful ;  to  the  thousand  stirring 
voices  without,  its  dry  lips  alone  remained  mute,  unrespon- 
sive, and  unchanged. 

During  this  time  Don  Jose  had  become  a  frequent  vis- 
itor at  Los  Cuervos,  bringing  with  him  at  first  his  niece 
and  sister  in  a  stately  precision  of  politeness  that  was  not 
lost  on  the  proud  Blue  Grass  stranger.  She  returned  their 
visit  at  Los  Gatos,  and  there  made  the  formal  acquaintance 
of  Don  Jose's  grandmother,  a  lady  who  still  regarded  the 
decrepit  Concha  as  a  giddy  muchacha,  and  who  herself  glit- 
tered as  with  the  phosphorescence  of  refined  decay.  Through 
this  circumstance  she  learned  that  Don  Jose  was  not  yet 
fifty,  and  that  his  gravity  of  manner  and  sedateness  was 
more  the  result  of  fastidious  isolation  and  temperament  than 


176  A  BLUE   GEASS   PENELOPE 

years.  She  could  not  tell  why  the  information  gave  her  a  feel- 
ing of  annoyance,  but  it  caused  her  to  regret  the  absence  of 
Poindexter,  and  to  wonder,  also  somewhat  nervously,  why 
he  had  lately  avoided  her  presence.  The  thought  that  he 
might  be  doing  so  from  a  recollection  of  the  innuendoes  of 
Mrs.  Patterson  caused  a  little  tremor  of  indignation  in  her 
pulses.  "  As  if  "  —  but  she  did  not  finish  the  sentence 
even  to  herself,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  bitter  tears. 

Yet  she  had  thought  of  the  husband  who  had  so  cruelly 
wronged  her  less  feverishly,  less  impatiently,  than  before. 
For  she  thought  she  loved  him  now  the  more  deeply,  be- 
cause, although  she  was  not  reconciled  to  his  absence,  it 
seemed  to  keep  alive  the  memory  of  what  he  had  been 
before  his  one  wild  act  separated  them.  She  had  never 
seen  the  reflection  of  another  woman's  eyes  in  his ;  the  past 
contained  no  haunting  recollection  of  waning  or  alienated 
affection  ;  she  could  meet  him  again,  and,  clasping  her  arms 
around  him,  awaken  as  if  from  a  troubled  dream  without 
reproach  or  explanation.  Her  strong  belief  in  this  made 
her  patient ;  she  no  longer  sought  to  know  the  particulars 
of  his  flight,  and  never  dreamed  that  her  passive  submission 
to  his  absence  was  partly  due  to  a  fear  that  something  in 
his  actual  presence  at  that  moment  would  have  destroyed 
that  belief  forever. 

For  this  reason  the  delicate  reticence  of  the  people  at 
Los  Gatos,  and  their  seclusion  from  the  world  which  knew 
of  her  husband's  fault,  had  made  her  encourage  the  visits 
of  Don  Jose,  until  from  the  instinct  already  alluded  to  she 
one  day  summoned  Poindexter  to  Los  Cuervos,  on  the  day 
that  Don  Jose  usually  called.  But  to  her  surprise  the  two 
men  met  more  or  less  awkwardly  and  coldly,  and  her  tact 
as  hostess  was  tried  to  the  utmost  to  keep  their  evident 
antagonism  from  being  too  apparent.  The  effort  to  recon- 
cile their  mutual  discontent,  and  some  other  feeling  she  did 
not  quite  understand,  produced  a  nervous  excitement  which. 


A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  177 

called  the  blood  to  her  cheek  and  gave  a  dangerous  bril- 
liancy to  her  eyes,  two  circumstances  not  unnoticed  nor  un- 
appreciated by  her  two  guests.  But  instead  of  reuniting 
them,  the  prettier  Mrs.  Tucker  became,  the  more  distant 
and  reserved  grew  the  men,  until  Don  Jose  rose  before  his 
usual  hour,  and  with  more  than  usual  ceremoniousness 
departed. 

"  Then  my  business  does  not  seem  to  be  with  him," 
said  Poindexter,  with  quiet  coolness,  as  Mrs.  Tucker  turned 
her  somewhat  mystified  face  towards  him.  "Or  have  you 
anything  to  say  to  me  about  him  in  private  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  both  mean,"  she  re- 
turned with  a  slight  tremor  of  voice.  "  I  had  no  idea  you 
were  not  on  good  terms.  I  thought  you  were  !  It 's  very 
awkward."  Without  coquetry  and  unconsciously  she  raised 
her  blue  eyes  under  her  lids  until  the  clear  pupils  coyly 
and  softly  hid  themselves  in  the  corners  of  the  brown 
lashes,  and  added,  "  You  have  both  been  so  kind  to 
me." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  the  reason,"  said  Poindexter  gravely. 
But  Mrs.  Tucker  refused  to  accept  the  suggestion  with 
equal  gravity,  and  began  to  laugh.  The  laugh,  which  was 
at  first  frank,  spontaneous,  and  almost  child-like,  was  be- 
coming hysterical  and  nervous  as  she  went  on,  until  it  was 
suddenly  checked  by  Poindexter. 

"  I  have  had  no  difficulties  with  Don  Jose*  Santierra," 
he  said,  somewhat  coldly  ignoring  her  hilarity,  "  but  per- 
haps he  is  not  inclined  to  be  as  polite  to  the  friend  of  the 
husband  as  he  is  to  the  wife." 

"  Mr.  Poindexter !  "  said  Mrs.  Tucker  quickly,  her  face 
becoming  pale  again. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon !  "  said  Poindexter,  flushing,  "  but "  — 

"  You  want  to  say,"  she  interrupted  coolly,  "  that  you 
are  not  friends,  I  see.  Is  that  the  reason  why  you  have 
avoided  this  house  ?  "  she  continued  gently. 


178  A   BLUE    GRASS   PENELOPE 

"  I  thought  I  could  be  of  more  service  to  you  elsewhere," 
he  replied  evasively.  "  I  have  been  lately  following  up  a 
certain  clue  rather  closely.  I  think  I  am  on  the  track  of  a 
confidante  of  —  of  —  that  woman." 

A  quick  shadow  passed  over  Mrs.  Tucker's  face.  "  In- 
deed !  "  she  said  coldly.  "  Then  I  am  to  believe  that  you 
prefer  to  spend  your  leisure  moments  in  looking  after  that 
creature  to  calling  here  ?  " 

Poindexter  was  stupefied.  Was  this  the  woman  who 
only  four  months  ago  was  almost  vindictively  eager  to  pur- 
sue her  husband's  paramour !  There  could  be  but  one 
answer  to  it  —  Don  Jose  !  Four  months  ago  he  would 
have  smiled  compassionately  at  it  from  his  cynical  preemi- 
nence. Now  he  managed  with  difficulty  to  stifle  the  bitter- 
ness of  his  reply. 

"  If  you  do  not  wish  the  inquiry  carried  on,"  he  began, 
"  of  course  "  — 

"  I  ?  What  does  it  matter  to  me  ?  "  she  said  coolly. 
"  Do  as  you  please." 

Nevertheless,  half  an  hour  later,  as  he  was  leaving,  she 
said,  with  a  certain  hesitating  timidity,  "  Do  not  leave  me 
so  much  alone  here,  and  let  that  woman  go." 

This  was  not  the  only  unlooked-for  sequel  to  her  inno- 
cent desire  to  propitiate  her  best  friends.  Don  Jose  did 
not  call  again  upon  his  usual  day,  but  in  his  place  came 
Dona  Clara,  his  younger  sister.  When  Mrs.  Tucker  had 
politely  asked  after  the  absent  Don  Jose",  Dona  Clara  wound 
her  swarthy  arms  around  the  fair  American's  waist  and 
replied,  "  But  why  did  you  send  for  the  abogado  Poindexter 
when  my  brother  called  ?  " 

"  But  Captain  Poindexter  calls  as  one  of  my  friends," 
said  the  amazed  Mrs.  Tucker.  "  He  is  a  gentleman,  and 
has  been  a  soldier  and  an  officer,"  she  added  with  some 
warmth. 

"  Ah,  yes,  a  soldier  of  the  law,  what  you  call  an  oficial 


A   BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  179 

de  policia,  a  chief  of  gendarmes,  my  sister,  but  not  a  gentle- 
man, —  a  camarero  to  protect  a  lady." 

Mrs.  Tucker  would  have  uttered  a  hasty  reply,  but  the 
perfect  and  good-natured  simplicity  of  Dona  Clara  withheld 
her.  Nevertheless,  she  treated  Don  Jose  with  a  certain 
reserve  at  their  next  meeting,  until  it  brought  the  simple- 
minded  Castilian  so  dangerously  near  the  point  of  demand- 
ing an  explanation  which  implied  too  much  that  she  was 
obliged  to  restore  him  temporarily  to  his  old  footing. 
Meantime  she  had  a  brilliant  idea.  She  would  write  to 
Calhoun  Weaver,  whom  she  had  avoided  since  that  memora- 
ble day.  She  would  say  she  wished  to  consult  him.  He 
would  come  to  Los  Cuervos ;  he  might  suggest  something 
to  lighten  this  weary  waiting  ;  at  least  she  would  show  them 
all  that  she  had  still  old  friends.  Yet  she  did  not  dream  of 
returning  to  her  Blue  Grass  home  ;  her  parents  had  died 
since  she  left ;  she  shrank  from  the  thought  of  dragging  her 
ruined  life  before  the  hopeful  youth  of  her  girlhood's  com- 
panions. 

Mr.  Calhoun  Weaver  arrived  promptly,  ostentatiously, 
oracularly,  and  cordially,  but  a  little  coarsely.  He  had 
—  did  she  remember  ?  —  expected  this  from  the  first. 
Spencer  had  lost  his  head  through  vanity,  and  had  at- 
tempted too  much.  It  required  foresight  and  firmness, 
as  he  himself  —  who  had  lately  made  successful  "  combi- 
nations "  which  she  might  perhaps  have  heard  of  —  well 
knew.  But  Spencer  had  got  the  "big  head."  "As  to 
that  woman  —  a  devilish  handsome  woman,  too  !  —  well, 
everybody  knew  that  Spencer  always  had  a  weakness  that 
way,  and  he  would  say  —  But  if  she  did  n't  care  to  hear 
any  more  about  her  —  well,  perhaps  she  was  right.  That 
was  the  best  way  to  take  it."  Sitting  before  her,  prosper- 
ous, weak,  egotistical,  incompetent,  unavailable,  and  yet 
filled  with  a  vague  kindliness  of  intent,  Mrs.  Tucker  loathed 
him.  A  sickening  perception  of  her  own  weakness  in  send- 


180  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

ing  for  him,  a  new  and  aching  sense  of  her  utter  isolation 
and  helplessness,  seemed  to  paralyze  her. 

"  Nat'rally  you  feel  bad,"  he  continued,  with  the  large 
air  of  a  profound  student  of  human  nature.  "  Nat'rally, 
nat'rally  you  're  kept  in  an  uncomfortable  state,  not  know- 
ing jist  how  you  stand.  There  ain't  but  one  thing  to  do. 
Jist  rise  up,  quiet  like,  and  get  a  divorce  agin  Spencer. 
Hold  on !  There  ain't  a  judge  or  jury  in  California  that 
would  n't  give  it  to  you  right  off  the  nail,  without  asking 
questions.  Why,  you  'd  get  it  by  default  if  you  wanted 
to ;  you  'd  just  have  to  walk  over  the  course  !  And  then, 
Belle,"  he  drew  his  chair  still  nearer  her,  "  when  you  've 
settled  down  again  —  well !  —  I  don't  mind  renewing  that 
offer  I  once  made  ye,  before  Spencer  ever  came  round  ye 
—  I  don't  mind,  Belle,  I  swear  I  don't !  Honest  Injin  ! 
I  'm  in  earnest,  there  's  my  hand." 

Mrs.  Tucker's  reply  has  not  been  recorded.  Enough 
that  half  an  hour  later  Mr.  Weaver  appeared  in  the  courtyard 
with  traces  of  tears  on  his  foolish  face,  a  broken  falsetto 
voice,  and  other  evidence  of  mental  and  moral  disturbance. 
His  cordiality  and  oracular  predisposition  remained  suffi- 
ciently to  enable  him  to  suggest  the  magical  words  "  Blue 
Grass"  mysteriously  to  Concha,  with  an  indication  of  his 
hand  to  the  erect  figure  of  her  pale  mistress  in  the  door- 
way, who  waved  to  him  a  silent  but  half-compassionate 
farewell. 

At  about  this  time  a  slight  change  in  her  manner  was 
noticed  by  the  few  who  saw  her  more  frequently.  Her 
apparently  invincible  girlishness  of  spirit  had  given  way  to 
a  certain  matronly  seriousness.  She  applied  herself  to  her 
household  cares  and  the  improvement  of  the  hacienda  with 
a  new  sense  of  duty  and  a  settled  earnestness,  until  by  de- 
grees she  wrought  into  it  not  only  her  instinctive  delicacy 
and  taste,  but  part  of  her  own  individuality.  Even  the 
rude  rancheros  and  tradesmen  who  were  permitted  to  enter 


A  BLUE   GEASS   PENELOPE  181 

the  walls  in  the  exercise  of  their  calling  began  to  speak 
mysteriously  of  the  beauty  of  this  garden  of  the  almarjal. 
She  went  out  but  seldom,  and  then,  accompanied  by  one  or 
the  other  of  her  female  servants,  in  long  drives  on  unfre- 
quented roads.  On  Sundays  she  sometimes  drove  to  the 
half-ruined  mission  church  of  Santa  Inez,  and  hid  herself, 
during  mass,  in  the  dim  monastic  shadows  of  the  choir. 
Gradually  the  poorer  people  whom  she  met  in  these  jour- 
neys began  to  show  an  almost  devotional  reverence  for 
her,  stopping  in  the  roads  with  uncovered  heads  for  her 
to  pass,  or  making  way  for  her  in  the  tienda  or  plaza  of  the 
wretched  town  with  dumb  courtesy.  She  began  to  feel  a 
strange  sense  of  widowhood,  that,  while  it  at  times  brought 
tears  to  her  eyes,  was  not  without  a  certain  tender  solace. 
In  the  sympathy  and  simpleness  of  this  impulse  she  went 
as  far  as  to  revive  the  mourning  she  had  worn  for  her 
parents,  but  with  such  a  fatal  accenting  of  her  beauty,  and 
dangerous  misinterpreting  of  her  condition  to  eligible  bach- 
elors strange  to  the  country,  that  she  was  obliged  to  put  it 
off  again.  Her  reserved  and  dignified  manner  caused  others 
to  mistake  her  nationality  for  that  of  the  Santierras,  and  in 
"  Dona  Bella  "  the  simple  Mrs.  Tucker  was  for  a  while  for- 
gotten. At  times  she  even  forgot  it  herself.  Accustomed 
now  almost  entirely  to  the  accents  of  another  language  and 
the  features  of  another  race,  she  would  sit  for  hours  in  the 
corridor,  whose  massive  bronzed  inclosure  even  her  tasteful 
care  could  only  make  an  embowered  mausoleum  of  the  Past, 
or  gaze  abstractedly  from  the  dark  embrasures  of  her  win- 
dows across  the  stretching  almarjal  to  the  shining  lagoon 
beyond  that  terminated  the  estuary.  She  had  a  strange 
fondness  for  this  tranquil  mirror,  which  under  sun  or  stars 
always  retained  the  passive  reflex  of  the  sky  above,  and 
seemed  to  rest  her  weary  eyes.  She  had  objected  to  one 
of  the  plans  projected  by  Poindexter  to  redeem  the  land  and 
deepen  the  water  at  the  embarcadero,  as  it  would  have 


182  A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

drained  the  lagoon,  and  the  lawyer  had  postponed  the  im- 
provement to  gratify  her  fancy.  So  she  kept  it  through 
the  long  summer  unchanged  save  by  the  shadows  of  passing 
wings  or  the  lazy  files  of  sleeping  sea-fowl. 

On  one  of  these  afternoons  she  noticed  a  slowly  moving 
carriage  leave  the  highroad  and  cross  the  almarjal  skirting 
the  edge  of  the  lagoon.  If  it  contained  visitors  for  Los 
Cuervos,  they  had  evidently  taken  a  shorter  cut  without 
waiting  to  go  on  to  the  regular  road  which  intersected  the 
highway  at  right  angles  a  mile  farther  on.  It  was  with 
some  sense  of  annoyance  and  irritation  that  she  watched 
the  trespass,  and  finally  saw  the  vehicle  approach  the 
house.  A  few  moments  later  the  servant  informed  her 
that  Mr.  Patterson  would  like  to  see  her  alone.  When 
she  entered  the  corridor,  which  in  the  dry  season  served  as 
a  reception  hall,  she  was  surprised  to  see  that  Patterson 
was  not  alone.  Near  him  stood  a  well-dressed,  handsome 
woman,  gazing  about  her  with  good-humored  admiration  of 
Mrs.  Tucker's  taste  and  ingenuity. 

"  It  don't  look  much  like  it  did  two  years  ago,"  said  the 
stranger  cheerfully.  "  You  've  improved  it  wonderfully." 

Stiffening  slightly,  Mrs.  Tucker  turned  inquiringly  to 
Mr.  Patterson.  But  that  gentleman's  usual  profound  mel- 
ancholy appeared  to  be  intensified  by  the  hilarity  of  his 
companion.  He  only  sighed  deeply,  and  rubbed  his  leg  with 
the  brim  of  his  hat  in  gloomy  abstraction. 

"  Well !  go  on,  then,"  said  the  woman,  laughing  and 
nudging  him.  "  Go  on  —  introduce  me,  can't  you  ? 
Don't  stand  there  like  a  tombstone.  You  won't  ?  Well, 
I  '11  introduce  myself."  She  laughed  again,  and  then,  with 
an  excellent  imitation  of  Patterson's  lugubrious  accents, 
said,  "  Mr.  Spencer  Tucker's  wife  that  is,  allow  me  to  in- 
troduce you  to  Mr.  Spencer  Tucker's  sweetheart  that  was  ! 
Hold  on  !  I  said  that  was.  For  true  as  I  stand  here, 
ma'am,  —  and  I  reckon  I  would  n't  stand  here  if  it  was  n't 


A   BLUE   GKASS   PENELOPE  183 

true,  —  I  have  n't  set  eyes  on  him  since  the  day  he  left 
you." 

"  It  's  the  gospel  truth,  every  word,"  said  Patterson, 
stirred  into  a  sudden  activity  by  Mrs.  Tucker's  white  and 
rigid  face.  "  It 's  the  frozen  truth,  and  I  kin  prove  it. 
For  I  kin  swear  that  when  that  there  young  woman  was 
sailin'  outer  the  Golden  Gate,  Spencer  Tucker  was  in  my 
bar-room  ;  I  kin  swear  that  I  fed  him,  lickered  him,  give 
him  a  hoss,  and  set  him  in  his  road  to  Monterey  that  very 
night." 

"  Then,  where  is  he  now  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Tucker,  suddenly 
facing  them. 

They  looked  at  each  other,  and  then  looked  at  Mrs. 
Tucker.  Then  both  together  replied  slowly  and  in  perfect 
unison,  "  That 's  —  what  —  we  —  want  —  to  —  know." 
They  seemed  so  satisfied  with  this  effect  that  they  as  delib- 
erately repeated,  "  Yes,  —  that 's  —  what  —  we  —  want  — 
to  —  know." 

Between  the  shock  of  meeting  the  partner  of  her  hus- 
band's guilt  and  the  unexpected  revelation  to  her  inexperi- 
ence, that  in  suggestion  and  appearance  there  was  nothing 
beyond  the  recollection  of  that  guilt  that  was  really  shocking 
in  the  woman  —  between  the  extravagant  extremes  of  hope 
and  fear  suggested  by  their  words,  there  was  something  so 
grotesquely  absurd  in  the  melodramatic  chorus  that  she  with 
difficulty  suppressed  an  hysterical  laugh. 

"  That 's  the  way  to  take  it,"  said  the  woman,  putting 
her  own  good-humored  interpretation  upon  Mrs.  Tucker's 
expression.  "  Now,  look  here  !  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it." 
She  carefully  selected  the  most  comfortable  chair,  and  sit- 
ting down,  lightly  crossed  her  hands  in  her  lap.  "  Well,  I 
left  here  on  the  13th  of  last  January  on  the  ship  Argo, 
calculating  that  your  husband  would  join  the  ship  just  in- 
side the  Heads.  That  was  our  arrangement ;  but  if  anything 
happened  to  prevent  him,  he  was  to  join  me  at  Acapulco. 


184  A  BLUE   GRASS  PENELOPE 

Well !  he  did  n't  come  aboard,  and  we  sailed  without  him. 
But  it  appears  now  he  did  attempt  to  join  the  ship,  but 
his  boat  was  capsized.  There  now,  don't  be  alarmed  !  he 
was  n't  drowned,  as  Patterson  can  swear  to  —  no,  catch 
him  !  not  a  hair  of  him  was  hurt.  But  / —  /  was  bundled 
off  to  the  end  of  the  earth  in  Mexico  alone,  without  a  cent 
to  bless  me.  For  true  as  you  live,  that  hound  of  a  captain, 
when  he  found,  as  he  thought,  that  Spencer  was  nabbed,  he 
just  confiscated  all  his  trunks  and  valuables,  and  left  me  in 
the  lurch.  If  I  had  not  met  a  man  down  there  that  offered 
to  marry  me  and  brought  me  here,  I  might  have  died  there, 
I  reckon.  But  I  did,  and  here  I  am.  I  went  down  there 
as  your  husband's  sweetheart ;  I  've  come  back  as  the  wife 
of  an  honest  man,  and  I  reckon  it 's  about  square  !  " 

There  was  something  so  startlingly  frank,  so  hopelessly 
self-satisfied,  so  contagiously  good-humored  in  the  woman's 
perfect  moral  unconsciousness,  that  even  if  Mrs.  Tucker 
had  been  less  preoccupied  her  resentment  would  have 
abated.  But  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  gloomy  face  of 
Patterson,  who  was  beginning  to  unlock  the  sepulchres  of 
his  memory  and  disinter  his  deeply  buried  thoughts. 

"  You  kin  bet  your  whole  pile  on  what  this  Mrs.  Cap- 
ting  Baxter  —  ez  used  to  be  French  Inez  of  New  Orleans 
—  hez  told  ye.  Ye  kin  take  everything  she  's  onloaded. 
And  it  Js  only  doin'  the  square  thing  to  her  to  say,  she 
hain't  done  it  out  o'  no  cussedness,  but  just  to  satisfy  her- 
self, now  she 's  a  married  woman  and  past  such  foolishness. 
But  that  ain't  neither  here  nor  there.  The  gist  of  the 
whole  matter  is  that  Spencer  Tucker  was  at  the  tienda  the 
day  after  she  sailed  and  after  his  boat  capsized."  He  then 
gave  a  detailed  account  of  the  interview,  with  the  unneces- 
sary but  truthful  minutiae  of  his  class,  adding  to  the  par- 
ticulars already  known  that  the  following  week  he  visited 
the  Summit  House,  and  was  surprised  to  find  that  Spencer 
had  never  been  there}  nor  had  he  ever  sailed  from  Monterey. 


A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  185 

"  But  why  was  this  not  told  to  me  before  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Tucker  suddenly.  "  Why  not  at  the  time  ?  Why,"  she 
demanded  almost  fiercely,  turning  from  the  one  to  the 
other,  "  has  this  been  kept  from  me  ?  " 

"  I  '11  tell  ye  why,"  said  Patterson,  sinking  with  crushed 
submission  into  a  chair.  "  When  I  found  he  was  n't  where 
he  ought  to  be,  I  got  to  lookin'  elsewhere.  I  knew  the 
track  of  the  hoss  I  lent  him  by  a  loose  shoe.  I  examined, 
and  found  he  had  turned  off  the  highroad  somewhere  be- 
yond the  lagoon,  jist  as  if  he  was  makin'  a  bee-line  here." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker  breathlessly. 

"  Well,"  said  Patterson,  with  the  resigned  tone  of  an 
accustomed  martyr,  "  mebbe  I  'm  a  God-forsaken  idiot,  but 
I  reckon  he  did  come  yer.  And  mebbe  I  'm  that  much  of 
a  habitooal  lunatic  but,  thinking  so,  I  calkilated  you'd 
know  it  without  tellin'." 

With  their  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  Mrs.  Tucker  felt  the 
quick  blood  rush  to  her  cheeks,  although  she  knew  not 
why.  But  they  were  apparently  satisfied  with  her  igno- 
rance, for  Patterson  resumed,  yet  more  gloomily  :  — 

"  Then  if  he  was  n't  hidin'  here  beknownst  to  you,  he 
must  have  changed  his  mind  agin,  and  got  away  by  the  em- 
barcadero.  The  only  thing  wantin'  to  prove  that  idea  is  to 
know  how  he  got  a  boat,  and  what  he  did  with  the  hoss. 
And  thar's  one  more  idea,  and  ez  that  can't  be  proved," 
continued  Patterson,  sinking  his  voice  still  lower,  "  mebbe 
it 's  accordin'  to  God's  laws." 

Unsympathetic  to  her  as  the  speaker  had  always  been 
and  still  was,  Mrs.  Tucker  felt  a  vague  chill  creep  over 
her,  that  seemed  to  be  the  result  of  his  manner  more  than 
his  words.  "  And  that  idea  is  "  —  she  suggested  with  pale 
lips. 

"  It 's  this !  Fust,  I  don't  say  it  means  much  to  any- 
body but  me.  I  've  heard  of  these  warnings  afore  now,  ez 
comin'  only  to  folks  ez  hear  them  for  themselves  alone,  and 


186  A  BLUE   GKASS   PENELOPE 

I  reckon  I  kin  stand  it,  if  it 's  the  will  o'  God.  The  idea 
is  then  —  that  —  Spencer  Tucker  —  was  drownded  in  that 
boat ;  the  idea  is  "  —  his  voice  was  almost  lost  in  a  hoarse 
whisper  —  "  that  it  was  no  living  man  that  kern  to  me  that 
night,  but  a  spirit  that  kem  out  of  the  darkness  and  went 
back  into  it !  No  eye  saw  him  but  mine ;  no  ears  heard 
him  but  mine.  I  reckon  it  were  n't  intended  it  should." 
He  paused,  and  passed  the  flap  of  his  hat  across  his  eyes. 
"  The  pie,  you  '11  say,  is  agin  it,"  he  continued  in  the  same 
tone  of  voice  ;  "  the  whiskey  is  agin  it ;  a  few  cuss  words 
that  dropped  from  him,  accidental  like,  may  have  been  agin 
it.  All  the  same  they  mout  have  been  only  the  little  signs 
and  tokens  that  it  was  him." 

But  Mrs.  Baxter's  ready  laugh  somewhat  rudely  dispelled 
the  infection  of  Patterson's  gloom.  "  I  reckon  the  only 
spirit  was  that  which  you  and  Spencer  consumed,"  she  said 
cheerfully.  "  I  don't  wonder  you  're  a  little  mixed.  Like 
as  not  you  've  misunderstood  his  plans." 

Patterson  shook  his  head.  "  He  '11  turn  up  yet,  alive  and 
kicking !  Like  as  not,  then,  Poindexter  knows  where  he  is 
all  the  time." 

"  Impossible !  He  would  have  told  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Tucker  quickly. 

Mrs.  Baxter  looked  at  Patterson  without  speaking.  Pat- 
terson replied  by  a  long  lugubrious  whistle. 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Mrs.  Tucker,  drawing 
back  with  cold  dignity. 

"  You  don't  ?  "  returned  Mrs.  Baxter.  "  Bless  your  in- 
nocent heart !  Why  was  he  so  keen  to  hunt  me  up  at  first, 
shadowing  my  friends  and  all  that,  and  why  has  he  dropped 
it  now  he  knows  I  'm  here,  if  he  did  n't  know  where  Spencer 
was  ?  " 

"  I  can  explain  that,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Tucker  hastily, 
with  a  blush  of  confusion.  "  That  is  —  I "  — 

"  Then  mebbe  you  kin  explain  too,"  broke  in  Patterson 


A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  187 

with  gloomy  significance,  "  why  he  has  bought  up  most  of 
Spencer's  debts  himself,  and  perhaps  you  're  satisfied  it  is  n't 
to  hold  the  whip  hand  of  him  and  keep  him  from  coming 
back  openly.  P'r'aps  you  know  why  he  's  movin'  heaven 
and  earth  to  make  Don  Jose7  Santierra  sell  the  ranch,  and 
why  the  don  don't  see  it  all." 

"  Don  Jose  sell  Los  Cuervos  !  Buy  it,  you  mean  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Tucker.  "  /  offered  to  sell  it  to  him." 

Patterson  arose  from  the  chair,  looked  despairingly  around 
him,  passed  his  hand  sadly  across  his  forehead,  and  said  : 
"  It 's  come  !  I  knew  it  would.  It 's  the  warning  !  It 's 
suthing  betwixt  jim-jams  and  doddering  idjiocy.  Here  I'd 
hev  been  willin'  to  swear  that  Mrs.  Baxter  here  told  me  she 
had  sold  this  yer  ranch  nearly  two  years  ago  to  Don  Jose, 
and  now  you  "  — 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Mrs.  Tucker,  in  a  voice  that  chilled  them. 

She  was  standing  upright  and  rigid,  as  if  stricken  to 
stone.  "  I  command  you  to  tell  me  what  this  means !  " 
she  said,  turning  only  her  blazing  eyes  upon  the  woman. 

Even  the  ready  smile  faded  from  Mrs.  Baxter's  lips  as 
she  replied  hesitatingly  and  submissively  :  "  I  thought  you 
knew  already  that  Spencer  had  given  this  ranch  to  me.  I 
sold  it  to  Don  Jose  to  get  the  money  for  us  to  go  away  with. 
It  was  Spencer's  idea  "  — 

"  You  lie  !  "  said  Mrs.  Tucker. 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  The  wrathful  blood  that  had 
quickly  mounted  to  Mrs.  Baxter's  cheek,  to  Patterson's  ad- 
ditional bewilderment,  faded  as  quickly.  She  did  not  lift  her 
eyes  again  to  Mrs.  Tucker's,  but,  slowly  raising  herself  from 
her  seat,  said,  "  I  wish  to  God  I  did  lie ;  but  it 's  true. 
And  it 's  true  that  I  never  touched  a  cent  of  the  money, 
but  gave  it  all  to  him  !  "  She  laid  her  hand  on  Patterson's 
arm,  and  said,  "  Come  !  let  us  go,"  and  led  him  a  few  steps 
toward  the  gateway.  But  here  Patterson  paused,  and  again 
passed  his  hand  over  his  melancholy  brow.  The  necessity  of 


188  A   BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE 

coherently  and  logically  closing  the  conversation  impressed 
itself  upon  his  darkening  mind.  "  Then  you  don't  happen 
to  have  heard  anything  of  Spencer  ?  "  he  said  sadly,  and 
vanished  with  Mrs.  Baxter  through  the  gate. 

Left  alone  to  herself,  Mrs.  Tucker  raised  her  hands  ahove 
her  head  with  a  little  cry,  interlocked  her  rigid  fingers,  and 
slowly  brought  her  palms  down  upon  her  upturned  face  and 
eyes,  pressing  hard  as  if  to  crush  out  all  light  and  sense  of 
life  hefore  her.  She  stood  thus  for  a  moment  motionless 
and  silent,  with  the  rising  wind  whispering  without  and 
flecking  her  white  morning  dress  with  gusty  shadows  from 
the  arbor.  Then,  with  closed  eyes,  dropping  her  hands 
to  her  breast,  still  pressing  hard,  she  slowly  passed  them 
down  the  shapely  contours  of  her  figure  to  the  waist,  and 
with  another  cry  cast  them  off  as  if  she  were  stripping 
herself  of  some  loathsome  garment.  Then  she  walked 
quickly  to  the  gateway,  looked  out,  returned  to  the  cor- 
ridor, unloosening  and  taking  off  her  wedding-ring  from 
her  finger  as  she  walked.  Here  she  paused,  then  slowly 
and  deliberately  rearranged  the  chairs  and  adjusted  the 
gay-colored  rugs  that  draped  them,  and  quietly  reentered 
her  chamber. 

Two  days  afterwards  the  sweating  steed  of  Captain  Poin- 
dexter  was  turned  loose  in  the  corral,  and  a  moment  later 
the  captain  entered  the  corridor.  Handing  a  letter  to  the 
decrepit  Concha,  who  seemed  to  be  utterly  disorganized  by 
its  contents  and  the  few  curt  words  with  which  it  was  de- 
livered, he  gazed  silently  upon  the  vacant  bower,  still  fresh 
and  redolent  with  the  delicacy  and  perfume  of  its  graceful 
occupant,  until  his  dark  eyes  filled  with  unaccustomed 
moisture.  But  his  reverie  was  interrupted  by  the  sound 
of  jingling  spurs  without,  and  the  old  humor  struggled 
back  into  his  eyes  as  Don  Jose  impetuously  entered.  The 
Spaniard  started  back,  but  instantly  recovered  himself. 


A  BLUE   GRASS   PENELOPE  189 

"  So,  I  find  you  here.  Ah  !  it  is  well !  "  he  said  pas- 
sionately, producing  a  letter  from  his  bosom.  "  Look  ! 
Do  you  call  this  honor  ?  Look  how  you  keep  your  com- 
pact !  " 

Poindexter  coolly  took  the  letter.  It  contained  a  few 
words  of  gentle  dignity  from  Mrs.  Tucker,  informing  Don 
Josd  that  she  had  only  that  instant  learned  of  his  just 
claims  upon  Los  Cuervos,  tendering  him  her  gratitude  for 
his  delicate  intentions,  but  pointing  out  with  respectful 
firmness  that  he  must  know  that  a  moment's  further  accep- 
tance of  his  courtesy  was  impossible. 

"  She  has  gained  this  knowledge  from  no  word  of  mine," 
said  Poindexter  calmly.  "  Eight  or  wrong,  I  have  kept 
my  promise  to  you.  I  have  as  much  reason  to  accuse  you 
of  betraying  my  secret  in  this,"  he  added  coldly,  as  he 
took  another  letter  from  his  pocket,  and  handed  it  to  Don 
Jose. 

It  seemed  briefer  and  colder,  but  was  neither.  It  re- 
minded Poindexter  that  as  he  had  again  deceived  her  she 
must  take  the  government  of  her  affairs  in  her  own  hands 
henceforth.  She  abandoned  all  the  furniture  and  improve- 
ments she  had  put  in  Los  Cuervos  to  him,  to  whom  she 
now  knew  she  was  indebted  for  them.  She  could  not  thank 
him  for  what  his  habitual  generosity  impelled  him  to  do  for 
any  woman,  but  she  could  forgive  him  for  misunderstand- 
ing her  like  any  other  woman,  perhaps  she  should  say,  like 
a  child.  When  he  received  this  she  would  be  already  on 
her  way  to  her  old  home  in  Kentucky,  where  she  still 
hoped  to  be  able  by  her  own  efforts  to  amass  enough  to 
discharge  her  obligations  to  him. 

"  She  does  not  speak  of  her  husband,  this  woman,"  said 
Don  Jose7,  scanning  Poindexter' s  face.  "  It  is  possible  she 
rejoins  him,  eh  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  in  one  way  she  has  never  left  him,  Don  Jos6," 
said  Poindexter,  with  grave  significance. 


190  A  BLUE   GRASS  PENELOPE 

Don   Jose's   face    flushed,    but    he    returned  carelessly, 
"  And  the  rancho  —  naturally  you  will  not  buy  it  now  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  shall  abide  by  my  offer,"  said  Poin- 
dexter  quietly. 

Don  Jose*  eyed  him  narrowly,  and  then  said,  "  Ah,  we 
shall  consider  of  it." 

He  did  consider  it,  and  accepted  the  offer.  With  the  full 
control  of  the  land,  Captain  Poindexter's  improvements,  so 
indefinitely  postponed,  were  actively  pushed  forward.  The 
thick  walls  of  the  hacienda  were  the  first  to  melt  away 
before  them  ;  the  low  lines  of  corral  were  effaced,  and  the 
early  breath  of  the  summer  trade-winds  swept  uninterrupt- 
edly across  the  now  leveled  plain  to  the  embarcadero,  where 
a  newer  structure  arose.  A  more  vivid  green  alone  marked 
the  spot  where  the  crumbling  adobe  walls  of  the  casa  had 
returned  to  the  parent  soil  that  gave  it.  The  channel  was 
deepened,  the  lagoon  was  drained,  until  one  evening  the 
magic  mirror  that  had  so  long  reflected  the  weary  waiting 
of  the  Blue  Grass  Penelope  lay  dull,  dead,  lustreless,  an 
opaque  quagmire  of  noisome  corruption  and  decay  to  be  put 
away  from  the  sight  of  man  forever.  On  this  spot  the 
crows,  the  titular  tenants  of  Los  Cuervos,  assembled  in 
tumultuous  congress,  coming  and  going  in  mysterious  clouds, 
or  laboring  in  thick  and  writhing  masses,  as  if  they  were 
continuing  the  work  of  improvement  begun  by  human 
agency.  So  well  had  they  done  the  work  that  by  the  end 
of  a  week  only  a  few  scattered  white  objects  remained  glit- 
tering on  the  surface  of  the  quickly  drying  soil.  But  they 
were  the  bones  of  the  missing  outcast,  Spencer  Tucker  ! 

The  same  spring  a  breath  of  war  swept  over  a  foul, 
decaying  quagmire  of  the  whole  land,  before  which  such 
passing  deeds  as  these  were  blown  as  vapor.  It  called  men 
of  all  rank  and  condition  to  battle  for  a  nation's  life,  and 
among  the  first  to  respond  were  those  into  whose  boyish 


A  BLUE   GEASS  PENELOPE  191 

hands  had  been  placed  the  nation's  honor.  It  returned  the 
epaulets  to  Poindexter's  shoulder  with  the  addition  of  a 
double  star,  carried  him  triumphantly  to  the  front,  and  left 
him,  at  the  end  of  a  summer's  day  and  a  hard- won  fight, 
sorely  wounded,  at  the  door  of  a  Blue  Grass  farmhouse. 
And  the  woman  who  sought  him  out  and  ministered  to  his 
wants  said  timidly,  as  she  left  her  hand  in  his,  "  I  told  you 
I  should  live  to  repay  you." 


LEFT  OUT   ON  LONE  STAE  MOUNTAIN 

I 

THERE  was  little  doubt  that  the  Lone  Star  claim  was 
"  played  out."  Not  dug  out,  worked  out,  washed  out,  but 
played  out.  For  two  years  its  five  sanguine  proprietors 
had  gone  through  the  various  stages  of  mining  enthusiasm  ; 
had  prospected  and  planned,  dug  and  doubted.  They  had 
borrowed  money  with  hearty  but  unredeeming  frankness, 
established  a  credit  with  unselfish  abnegation  of  all  respon- 
sibility, and  had  borne  the  disappointment  of  their  creditors 
with  a  cheerful  resignation  which  only  the  consciousness  of 
some  deep  Compensating  Future  could  give.  Giving  little 
else,  however,  a  singular  dissatisfaction  obtained  with  the 
traders,  and,  being  accompanied  with  a  reluctance  to  make 
further  advances,  at  last  touched  the  gentle  stoicism  of  the 
proprietors  themselves.  The  youthful  enthusiasm  which  had 
at  first  lifted  the  most  ineffectual  trial,  the  most  useless  essay, 
to  the  plane  of  actual  achievement  died  out,  leaving  them 
only  the  dull,  prosaic  record  of  half-finished  ditches,  purpose- 
less shafts,  untenable  pits,  abandoned  engines,  and  meaning- 
less disruptions  of  the  soil  upon  the  Lone  Star  claim,  and 
empty  flour  sacks  and  pork  barrels  in  the  Lone  Star  cabin. 

They  had  borne  their  poverty,  if  that  term  could  be  ap- 
plied to  a  light  renunciation  of  all  superfluities  in  food,  dress, 
or  ornament,  ameliorated  by  the  gentle  depredations  already 
alluded  to,  with  unassuming  levity.  More  than  that:  having 
segregated  themselves  from  their  fellow  miners  of  Red  Gulch, 
and  entered  upon  the  possession  of  the  little  manzanita-thick- 
eted  valley  five  miles  away,  the  failure  of  their  enterprise 


LEFT  OUT  ON  LONE  STAE  MOUNTAIN      193 

had  assumed  in  their  eyes  only  the  vague  significance  of  the 
decline  and  fall  of  a  general  community,  and  to  that  extent 
relieved  them  of  individual  responsibility.  It  was  easier 
for  them  to  admit  that  the  Lone  Star  claim  was  "  played  out " 
than  confess  to  a  personal  bankruptcy.  Moreover,  they  still 
retained  the  sacred  right  of  criticism  of  government,  and  rose 
superior  in  their  private  opinions  to  their  own  collective  wis- 
dom. Each  one  experienced  a  grateful  sense  of  the  entire 
responsibility  of  the  other  four  in  the  fate  of  their  enterprise. 

On  December  24,  1863,  a  gentle  rain  was  still  falling  over 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  Lone  Star  claim.  It  had  been 
falling  for  several  days,  had  already  called  a  faint  spring 
color  to  the  wan  landscape,  repairing  with  tender  touches 
the  ravages  wrought  by  the  proprietors,  or  charitably  cover- 
ing their  faults.  The  ragged  seams  in  gulch  and  canon  lost 
their  harsh  outlines,  a  thin  green  mantle  faintly  clothed  the 
torn  and  abraded  hillside.  A  few  weeks  more,  and  a  veil 
of  forgetfulness  would  be  drawn  over  the  feeble  failures  of 
the  Lone  Star  claim.  The  charming  derelicts  themselves, 
listening  to  the  raindrops  on  the  roof  of  their  little  cabin, 
gazed  philosophically  from  the  open  door,  and  accepted  the 
prospect  as  a  moral  discharge  from  their  obligations.  Four 
of  the  five  partners  were  present.  The  Eight  and  Left 
Bowers,  Union  Mills,  and  the  Judge. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  not  one  of  these  titles 
was  the  genuine  name  of  its  possessor.  The  Eight  and 
Left  Bowers  were  two  brothers  ;  their  sobriquets,  a  cheerful 
adaptation  from  the  favorite  game  of  euchre,  expressing  their 
relative  value  in  the  camp.  The  mere  fact  that  Union  Mills 
had  at  one  time  patched  his  trousers  with  an  old  flour  sack 
legibly  bearing  that  brand  of  its  fabrication,  was  a  tempting 
baptismal  suggestion  that  the  other  partners  could  not  forego. 
The  Judge,  a  singularly  inequitable  Missourian,  with  no 
knowledge  whatever  of  the  law,  was  an  inspiration  of  gratu- 
itous irony. 


194      LEFT  OUT  ON  LONE  STAR  MOUNTAIN 

Union  Mills,  who  had  been  for  some  time  sitting  pla- 
cidly on  the  threshold  with  one  leg  exposed  to  the  rain, 
from  a  sheer  indolent  inability  to  change  his  position,  finally 
withdrew  that  weather-beaten  member,  and  stood  up.  The 
movement  more  or  less  deranged  the  attitudes  of  the  other 
partners,  and  was  received  with  cynical  disfavor.  It  was 
somewhat  remarkable  that,  although  generally  giving  the 
appearance  of  healthy  youth  and  perfect  physical  condition, 
they  one  and  all  simulated  the  decrepitude  of  age  and  inva- 
lidism,  and  after  limping  about  for  a  few  moments,  settled 
back  again  upon  their  bunks  and  stools  in  their  former  posi- 
tions. The  Left  Bower  lazily  replaced  a  bandage  that  he 
had  worn  around  his  ankle  for  weeks  without  any  apparent 
necessity,  and  the  Judge  scrutinized  with  tender  solicitude 
the  faded  cicatrix  of  a  scratch  upon  his  arm.  A  passive  hy- 
pochondria, born  of  their  isolation,  was  the  last  ludicrously 
pathetic  touch  of  their  situation. 

The  immediate  cause  of  this  commotion  felt  the  necessity 
of  an  explanation. 

"  It  would  have  been  just  as  easy  for  you  to  have  stayed 
outside  with  your  business  leg,  instead  of  dragging  it  into 
private  life  in  that  obtrusive  way,"  retorted  the  Eight 
Bower ;  "  but  that  exhaustive  effort  is  n't  going  to  fill  the 
pork  barrel.  The  grocery  man  at  Dalton  says  —  What 's 
that  he  said  ?  "  he  appealed  lazily  to  the  Judge. 

"  Said  he  reckoned  the  Lone  Star  was  about  played  out, 
and  he  did  n't  want  any  more  in  his  —  thank  you  !  "  re- 
peated the  Judge  with  a  mechanical  effort  of  memory  utterly 
devoid  of  personal  or  present  interest. 

"  I  always  suspected  that  man,  after  Grimshaw  begun  to 
deal  with  him,"  said  the  Left  Bower.  "  They  're  just  mean 
enough  to  join  hands  against  us."  It  was  a  fixed  belief  of 
the  Lone  Star  partners  that  they  were  pursued  by  personal 
enmities. 

"  More  than  likely  those  new  strangers  over  in  the  Fork 


LEFT  OUT   ON  LONE   STAR  MOUNTAIN  195 

have  been  paying  cash  and  filled  him  up  with  conceit,"  said 
Union  Mills,  trying  to  dry  his  leg  by  alternately  beating  it 
or  rubbing  it  against  the  cabin  wall.  "  Once  begin  wrong 
with  that  kind  of  snipe,  and  you  drag  everybody  down  with 
you." 

This  vague  conclusion  was  received  with  dead  silence. 
Everybody  had  become  interested  in  the  speaker's  peculiar 
method  of  drying  his  leg,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  previous 
topic.  A  few  offered  criticism,  no  one  assistance. 

"  Who  did  the  grocery  man  say  that  to  ?  "  asked  the 
Eight  Bower,  finally  returning  to  the  question. 

"  The  Old  Man,"  answered  the  Judge. 

"  Of  course,"  ejaculated  the  Eight  Bower  sarcastically. 

"  Of  course,"  echoed  the  other  partners  together.  "That 's 
like  him.  The  Old  Man  all  over  !  " 

It  did  not  appear  exactly  what  was  like  the  Old  Man,  or 
why  it  was  like  him,  but  generally  that  he  alone  was  respon- 
sible for  the  grocery  man's  defection.  It  was  put  more  con- 
cisely by  Union  Mills. 

"  That  comes  of  letting  him  go  there  !  It 's  just  a  fair 
provocation  to  any  man  to  have  the  Old  Man  sent  to  him. 
They  can't,  sorter,  restrain  themselves  at  him.  He's 
enough  to  spoil  the  credit  of  the  Eothschilds." 

"  That 's  so,"  chimed  in  the  Judge.  "  And  look  at  his 
prospecting.  Why,  he  was  out  two  nights  last  week,  all 
night,  prospecting  in  the  moonlight  for  blind  leads,  just  out 
of  sheer  foolishness." 

"  It  was  quite  enough  for  me,"  broke  in  the  Left  Bower, 
"  when  the  other  day  —  you  remember  when  —  he  pro- 
posed to  us  white  men  to  settle  down  to  plain  ground  sluic- 
ing, making  '  grub '  wages  just  like  any  Chinaman.  It  just 
showed  his  idea  of  the  Lone  Star  claim." 

"  Well,  I  never  said  it  afore,"  added  Union  Mills,  "  but 
when  that  one  of  the  Mattison  boys  came  over  here  to 
examine  the  claim  with  an  eye  to  purchasing  it  was  the 


196      LEFT  OUT  ON  LONE  STAK  MOUNTAIN 

Old  Man  that  took  the  conceit  out  of  him.  He  just  as  good 
as  admitted  that  a  lot  of  work  had  got  to  be  done  afore  any 
pay  ore  could  he  realized.  Never  even  asked  him  over  to 
the  shanty  here  to  jine  us  in  a  friendly  game ;  just  kept 
him,  so  to  speak,  to  himself.  And  naturally  the  Mattisons 
didn't  see  it." 

A  silence  followed,  broken  only  by  the  rain  monotonously 
falling  on  the  roof,  and  occasionally  through  the  broad  adobe 
chimney,  where  it  provoked  a  retaliating  hiss  and  splutter 
from  the  dying  embers  of  the  hearth.  The  Eight  Bower, 
with  a  sudden  access  of  energy,  drew  the  empty  barrel 
before  him,  and  taking  a  pack  of  well-worn  cards  from  his 
pocket,  began  to  make  a  "  solitaire "  upon  the  lid.  The 
others  gazed  at  him  with  languid  interest. 

"  Makin'  it  for  anythin'  ?  "  asked  Mills. 

The  Right  Bower  nodded. 

The  Judge  and  Left  Bower,  who  were  partly  lying  in 
their  respective  bunks,  sat  up  to  get  a  better  view  of  the 
game.  Union  Mills  slowly  disengaged  himself  from  the 
wall,  and  leaned  over  the  "  solitaire  "  player.  The  Eight 
Bower  turned  the  last  card  in  a  pause  of  almost  thrilling 
suspense,  and  clapped  it  down  on  the  lid  with  fateful  em- 
phasis. 

"  It  went !  "  said  the  Judge  in  a  voice  of  hushed  respect. 
"  What  did  you  make  it  for  ?  "  he  almost  whispered. 

"  To  know  if  we  'd  make  the  break  we  talked  about  and 
vamose  the  ranch.  It 's  the  fifth  time  to-day,"  continued 
the  Eight  Bower,  in  a  voice  of  gloomy  significance.  "  And 
it  went  agin  bad  cards  too." 

"I  ain't  superstitious,"  said  the  Judge,  with  awe  and 
fatuity  beaming  from  every  line  of  his  credulous  face, 
"  but  it 's  fly  in'  in  the  face  oi  Providence  to  go  agin  such 
signs  as  that." 

"  Make  it  again,  to  see  if  the  Old  Man  must  go,"  sug- 
gested the  Left  Bower. 


LEFT  OUT  ON  LONE   STAR  MOUNTAIN  197 

The  suggestion  was  received  with  favor,  the  three  men 
gathering  breathlessly  around  the  player.  Again  the  fateful 
cards  were  shuffled  deliberately,  placed  in  their  mysterious 
combination,  with  the  same  ominous  result.  Yet  every- 
body seemed  to  breathe  more  freely,  as  if  relieved  from 
some  responsibility,  the  Judge  accepting  this  manifest  ex- 
pression of  Providence  with  resigned  self-righteousness. 

"  Yes,  gentlemen,"  resumed  the  Left  Bower  serenely, 
as  if  a  calm  legal  decision  had  just  been  recorded,  "we 
must  not  let  any  foolishness  or  sentiment  get  mixed  up 
with  this  thing,  but  look  at  it  like  business  men.  The 
only  sensible  move  is  to  get  up  and  get  out  of  the  camp." 

"  And  the  Old  Man  ?  "  queried  the  Judge. 

"  The  Old  Man  —  Hush  !  he  'a  coming." 

The  doorway  was  darkened  by  a  slight  lissome  shadow. 
It  was  the  absent  partner,  otherwise  known  as  the  "Old 
Man."  Need  it  be  added  that  he  was  a  boy  of  nineteen, 
with  a  slight  down  just  clothing  his  upper  lip  ! 

"  The  creek  is  up  over  the  ford,  and  I  had  to  '  shin '  up 
a  willow  on  the  bank  and  swing  myself  across,"  he  said, 
with  a  quick,  frank  laugh  ;  "  but  all  the  same,  boys,  it 's  going 
to  clear  up  in  about  an  hour,  you  bet.  It 's  breaking  away 
over  Bald  Mountain,  and  there 's  a  sun-flash  on  a  bit  of 
snow  on  Lone  Peak.  Look  !  you  can  see  it  from  here. 
It 's  for  all  the  world  like  Noah's  dove  just  landed  on  Mount 
Ararat.  It's  a  good  omen." 

From  sheer  force  of  habit  the  men  had  momentarily 
brightened  up  at  the  Old  Man's  entrance.  But  the  unblush- 
ing exhibition  of  degrading  superstition  shown  in  the  last 
sentence  recalled  their  just  severity.  They  exchanged  mean- 
ing glances.  Union  Mills  uttered  hopelessly  to  himself : 
"  Hell 's  full  of  such  omens." 

Too  occupied  with  his  subject  to  notice  this  ominous  re- 
ception, the  Old  Man  continued  :  "I  reckon  I  struck  a  fresh 
lead  in  the  new  grocery  man  at  the  Crossing.  He  says  he  '11 


198  LEFT  OUT   ON  LONE   STAR  MOUNTAIN 

let  the  Judge  have  a  pair  of  boots  on  credit,  but  he  can't 
send  them  over  here  ;  and  considering  that  the  Judge  has 
got  to  try  them  anyway,  it  don't  seem  to  be  asking  too  much 
for  the  Judge  to  go  over  there.  He  says  he  '11  give  us  a 
barrel  of  pork  and  a  bag  of  flour  if  we  '11  give  him  the  right 
of  using  our  tail-race  and  clean  out  the  lower  end  of  it." 

"  It 's  the  work  of  a  Chinaman,  and  a  four  days'  job," 
broke  in  the  Left  Bower. 

"It  took  one  white  man  only  two  hours  to  clean  out 
a  third  of  it,"  retorted  the  Old  Man  triumphantly,  "  for  1 
pitched  in  at  once  with  a  pick  he  let  me  have  on  credit,  and 
did  that  amount  of  work  this  morning,  and  told  him  the 
rest  of  you  boys  would  finish  it  this  afternoon." 

A  slight  gesture  from  the  Right  Bower  checked  an  angry 
exclamation  from  the  Left.  The  Old  Man  did  not  notice 
either,  but,  knitting  his  smooth  young  brow  in  a  paternally 
reflective  fashion,  went  on :  "  You  '11  have  to  get  a  new  pair 
of  trousers,  Mills,  but  as  he  does  n't  keep  clothing,  we  '11 
have  to  get  some  canvas  and  cut  you  out  a  pair.  I  traded 
off  the  beans  he  let  me  have  for  some  tobacco  for  the  Eight 
Bower  at  the  other  shop,  and  got  them  to  throw  in  a  new 
pack  of  cards.  These  are  about  played  out.  We'll  be 
wanting  some  brushwood  for  the  fire ;  there  's  a  heap  in  the 
hollow.  Who  's  going  to  bring  it  in  ?  It 's  the  Judge's 
turn,  is  n't  it  ?  Why,  what 's  the  matter  with  you  all  ?  " 

The  restraint  and  evident  uneasiness  of  his  companions 
had  at  last  touched  him.  He  turned  his  frank  young  eyes 
upon  them  ;  they  glanced  helplessly  at  each  other.  Yet  his 
first  concern  was  for  them,  his  first  instinct  paternal  and 
protecting.  He  ran  his  eyes  quickly  over  them  ;  they  were 
all  there,  and  apparently  in  their  usual  condition.  "  Any- 
thing wrong  with  the  claim  ?  "  he  suggested. 

Without  looking  at  him  the  Eight  Bower  rose,  leaned 
against  the  open  door  with  his  hands  behind  him  and  his 
face  towards  the  landscape,  and  said,  apparently  to  the  dis- 


LEFT  OUT  ON  LONE   STAR   MOUNTAIN  199 

tant  prospect :  "  The  claim 's  played  out,  the  partnership  's 
played  out,  and  the  sooner  we  skedaddle  out  of  this  the  bet- 
ter. If,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  Old  Man,  "  if  you  want 
to  stay,  if  you  want  to  do  Chinaman's  work  at  Chinaman's 
wages,  if  you  want  to  hang  on  to  the  charity  of  the  traders 
at  the  Crossing,  you  can  do  it,  and  enjoy  the  prospects  and 
the  Noah's  doves  alone.  But  we  're  calculatin'  to  step  out 
of  it." 

"  But  I  have  n't  said  I  wanted  to  do  it  alone"  protested 
the  Old  Man  with  a  gesture  of  bewilderment. 

"  If  these  are  your  general  ideas  of  the  partnership," 
continued  the  Eight  Bower,  clinging  to  the  established  hypo- 
thesis of  the  other  partners  for  support,  "  it  ain't  ours,  and 
the  only  way  we  can  prove  it  is  to  stop  the  foolishness  right 
here.  We  calculated  to  dissolve  the  partnership  and  strike 
out  for  ourselves  elsewhere.  You  're  no  longer  responsible 
for  us,  nor  we  for  you.  And  we  reckon  it 's  the  square 
thing  to  leave  you  the  claim  and  the  cabin  and  all  it  con- 
tains. To  prevent  any  trouble  with  the  traders,  we've 
drawn  up  a  paper  here  "  — 

"  With  a  bonus  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  each  down,  and  the 
rest  to  be  settled  on  my  children,"  interrupted  the  Old  Man, 
with  a  half-uneasy  laugh.  "  Of  course.  But  "  —  he  stopped 
suddenly,  the  blood  dropped  from  his  fresh  cheek,  and  he 
again  glanced  quickly  round  the  group.  "  I  don't  think  — 
I  —  I  quite  sabe,  boys,"  he  added,  with  a  slight  tremor  of 
voice  and  lip.  "  If  it 's  a  conundrum,  ask  me  an  easier 
one." 

Any  lingering  doubt  he  might  have  had  of  their  meaning 
was  dispelled  by  the  Judge.  "  It 's  about  the  softest  thing 
you  kin  drop  into,  Old  Man,"  he  said  confidentially  ;  "  if  / 
had  n't  promised  the  other  boys  to  go  with  them,  and  if  I 
did  n't  need  the  best  medical  advice  in  Sacramento  for  my 
lungs,  I  'd  just  enjoy  staying  with  you." 

"  It  gives  a  sorter  freedom  to  a  young  fellow  like  you, 


200  LEFT   OUT  ON  LONE   STAR  MOUNTAIN 

Old  Man,  like  goin'  into  the  world  on  your  own  capital, 
that  every  Californian  boy  has  n't  got,"  said  Union  Mills 
patronizingly. 

"Of  course  it's  rather  hard  papers  on  us,  you  know, 
givin'  up  everything,  so  to  speak  ;  but  it 's  for  your  good, 
and  we  ain't  goin'  back  on  you,"  said  the  Left  Bower ;  "  are 
we,  boys  ?  " 

The  color  had  returned  to  the  Old  Man's  face  a  little 
more  quickly  and  freely  than  usual.  He  picked  up  the  hat 
he  had  cast  down,  put  it  on  carefully  over  his  brown  curls, 
drew  the  flap  down  on  the  side  towards  his  companions, 
and  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "  All  right,"  he  said, 
in  a  slightly  altered  voice.  "  When  do  you  go  ?  " 

"  To-day,"  answered  the  Left  Bower.  "  We  calculate  to 
take  a  moonlight  pasear  over  to  the  Cross-Eoads  and  meet 
the  down  stage  at  about  twelve  to-night.  There  's  plenty 
of  time  yet,"  he  added,  with  a  slight  laugh  ;  "  it 's  only 
three  o'clock  now." 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Even  the  rain  withheld  its 
continuous  patter ;  a  dumb,  gray  film  covered  the  ashes  of 
the  hushed  hearth.  For  the  first  time  the  Eight  Bower  ex- 
hibited some  slight  embarrassment. 

"  I  reckon  it 's  held  up  for  a  spell,"  he  said,  ostentatiously 
examining  the  weather,  "  and  we  might  as  well  take  a  run 
round  the  claim  to  see  if  we  've  forgotten  nothing.  Of 
course,  we  '11  be  back  again,"  he  added  hastily,  without 
looking  at  the  Old  Man,  "  before  we  go,  you  know." 

The  others  began  to  look  for  their  hats,  but  so  awk- 
wardly and  with  such  evident  preoccupation  of  mind  that 
it  was  not  at  first  discovered  that  the  Judge  had  his  already 
on.  This  raised  a  laugh,  as  did  also  a  clumsy  stumble  of 
Union  Mills  against  the  pork  barrel,  although  that  gentle- 
man took  refuge  from  his  confusion  and  secured  a  decent 
retreat  by  a  gross  exaggeration  of  his  lameness,  as  he  limped 
after  the  Eight  Bower.  The  Judge  whistled  feebly.  The 


LEFT   OUT   ON   LONE   STAB   MOUNTAIN  201 

Left  Bower,  in  a  more  ambitions  effort  to  impart  a  certain 
gayety  to  his  exit,  stopped  on  the  threshold  and  said,  as  if  in 
arch  confidence  to  his  companions,  "  Darned  if  the  Old  Man 
don't  look  two  inches  higher  since  he  became  a  proprietor," 
laughed  patronizingly,  and  vanished. 

If  the  newly  made  proprietor  had  increased  in  stature,  he 
had  not  otherwise  changed  his  demeanor.  He  remained  in 
the  same  attitude  until  the  last  figure  disappeared  behind 
the  fringe  of  buckeye  that  hid  the  distant  highway.  Then 
he  walked  slowly  to  the  fireplace,  and,  leaning  against  the 
chimney,  kicked  the  dying  embers  together  with  his  foot. 
Something  dropped  and  spattered  in  the  film  of  hot  ashes. 
Surely  the  rain  had  not  yet  ceased ! 

His  high  color  had  already  fled  except  for  a  spot  on 
either  cheek-bone  that  lent  a  brightness  to  his  eyes.  He 
glanced  around  the  cabin.  It  looked  familiar  and  yet 
strange.  Kather,  it  looked  strange  because  still  familiar, 
and  therefore  incongruous  with  the  new  atmosphere  that 
surrounded  it  —  discordant  with  the  echo  of  their  last  meet- 
ing, and  painfully  accenting  the  change.  There  were  the 
four  "bunks,"  or  sleeping  berths,  of  his  companions,  each 
still  bearing  some  traces  of  the  individuality  of  its  late 
occupant  with  a  dumb  loyalty  that  seemed  to  make  their 
light-hearted  defection  monstrous.  In  the  dead  ashes  of 
the  Judge's  pipe,  scattered  on  his  shelf,  still  lived  his  old 
fire  ;  in  the  whittled  and  carved  edges  of  the  Left  Bower's 
bunk  still  were  the  memories  of  bygone  days  of  delicious 
indolence  ;  in  the  bullet-holes  clustered  round  a  knot  of  one 
of  the  beams  there  was  still  the  record  of  the  Right  Bower's 
old-time  skill  and  practice  ;  in  the  few  engravings  of  female 
loveliness  stuck  upon  each  headboard  there  were  the  proofs 
of  their  old  extravagant  devotion  —  all  a  mute  protest  to 
the  change. 

He  remembered  how,  a  fatherless,  truant  schoolboy,  he 
had  drifted  into  their  adventurous,  nomadic  life,  itself  a  life 


202  LEFT  OUT  ON  LONE   STAR  MOUNTAIN 

of  grown-up  truancy  like  his  own,  and  became  one  of  that 
gypsy  family.  How  they  had  taken  the  place  of  relations 
and  household  in  his  boyish  fancy,  filling  it  with  the  un- 
substantial pageantry  of  a  child's  play  at  grown-up  exist- 
ence, he  knew  only  too  well.  But  how,  from  being  a  pet 
and  protege,  he  had  gradually  and  unconsciously  asserted 
his  own  individuality  and  taken  upon  his  younger  shoulders 
not  only  a  poet's  keen  appreciation  of  that  life,  but  its 
actual  responsibilities  and  half-childish  burdens,  he  never 
suspected.  He  had  fondly  believed  that  he  was  a  neophyte 
in  their  ways,  a  novice  in  their  charming  faith  and  indolent 
creed,  and  they  had  encouraged  it ;  now  their  renunciation 
of  that  faith  could  only  be  an  excuse  for  a  renunciation  of 
him.  The  poetry  that  had  for  two  years  invested  the  ma- 
terial and  sometimes  even  mean  details  of  their  existence 
was  too  much  a  part  of  himself  to  be  lightly  dispelled. 
The  lesson  of  those  ingenuous  moralists  failed,  as  such  les- 
sons are  apt  to  fail ;  their  discipline  provoked  but  did  not 
subdue ;  a  rising  indignation,  stirred  by  a  sense  of  injury, 
mounted  to  his  cheek  and  eyes.  It  was  slow  to  come,  but 
was  none  the  less  violent  that  it  had  been  preceded  by  the 
benumbing  shock  of  shame  and  pride. 

I  hope  I  shall  not  prejudice  the  reader's  sympathies  if 
my  duty  as  a  simple  chronicler  compels  me  to  state,  there- 
fore, that  the  sober  second  thought  of  this  gentle  poet  was 
to  burn  down  the  cabin  on  the  spot  with  all  its  contents. 
This  yielded  to  a  milder  counsel  —  waiting  for  the  return 
of  the  party,  challenging  the  Eight  Bower,  a  duel  to  the 
death,  perhaps  himself  the  victim,  with  the  crushing  ex- 
planation in  extremis,  "  It  seems  we  are  one  too  many. 
No  matter ;  it  is  settled  now.  Farewell  !  "  Dimly  remem- 
bering, however,  that  there  was  something  of  this  in  the 
last  well-worn  novel  they  had  read  together,  and  that  his 
antagonist  might  recognize  it,  or  even  worse,  anticipate  it 
himself,  the  idea  was  quickly  rejected.  Besides,  the  op- 


LEFT  OUT  ON  LONE  STAR  MOUNTAIN      203 

portunity  for  an  apotheosis  of  self-sacrifice  was  past.  No- 
thing remained  now  but  to  refuse  the  proffered  bribe  of 
claim,  and  cabin  by  letter,  for  he  must  not  wait  their  return. 
He  tore  a  leaf  from  a  blotted  diary,  begun  and  abandoned 
long  since,  and  essayed  to  write.  Scrawl  after  scrawl  was 
torn  up,  until  his  fury  had  cooled  down  to  a  frigid  third 
personality.  "Mr.  John  Ford  regrets  to  inform  his  late 
partners  that  their  tender  of  house,  of  furniture,"  however, 
seemed  too  inconsistent  with  the  pork-barrel  table  he  was 
writing  on  ;  a  more  eloquent  renunciation  of  their  offer  be- 
came frivolous  and  idiotic  from  a  caricature  of  Union  Mills, 
label  and  all,  that  appeared  suddenly  on  the  other  side  of 
the  leaf;  and  when  he  at  last  indited  a  satisfactory  and 
impassioned  exposition  of  his  feelings,  the  legible  addendum 
of  "  Oh,  ain't  you  glad  you  're  out  of  the  wilderness  !  "  — 
the  forgotten  first  line  of  a  popular  song,  which  no  scratch- 
ing would  erase  —  seemed  too  like  an  ironical  postscript  to 
be  thought  of  for  a  moment.  He  threw  aside  his  pen,  and 
cast  the  discordant  record  of  past  foolish  pastime  into  the 
dead  ashes  of  the  hearth. 

How  quiet  it  was !  With  the  cessation  of  the  rain  the 
wind  too  had  gone  down,  and  scarcely  a  breath  of  air  came 
through  the  open  door.  He  walked  to  the  threshold,  and 
gazed  on  the  hushed  prospect.  In  this  listless  attitude  he 
was  faintly  conscious  of  a  distant  reverberation,  a  mere  phan- 
tom of  sound,  —  perhaps  the  explosion  of  a  distant  blast  in 
the  hills,  —  that  left  the  silence  more  marked  and  oppres- 
sive. As  he  turned  again  into  the  cabin  a  change  seemed 
to  have  come  over  it.  It  already  looked  old  and  decayed. 
The  loneliness  of  years  of  desertion  seemed  to  have  taken 
possession  of  it ;  the  atmosphere  of  dry  rot  was  in  the  beams 
and  rafters.  To  his  excited  fancy  the  few  disordered  blank- 
ets and  articles  of  clothing  seemed  dropping  to  pieces ;  in 
one  of  the  bunks  there  was  a  hideous  resemblance  in  the 
longitudinal  heap  of  clothing  to  a  withered  and  mummied 


204  LEFT   OUT  ON  LONE   STAR   MOUNTAIN 

corpse.  So  it  might  look  in  after-years  when  some  passing 
stranger  —  But  he  stopped.  A  dread  of  the  place  was  be- 
ginning to  creep  over  him ;  a  dread  of  the  days  to  come, 
when  the  monotonous  sunshine  should  lay  bare  the  lone- 
liness of  these  walls ;  the  long,  long  days  of  endless  blue 
and  cloudless,  overhanging  solitude ;  summer  days  when  the 
wearying,  incessant  trade-winds  should  sing  around  that 
empty  shell  and  voice  its  desolation.  He  gathered  together 
hastily  a  few  articles  that  were  especially  his  own  —  rather 
that  the  free  communion  of  the  camp,  from  indifference  or 
accident,  had  left  wholly  to  him.  He  hesitated  for  a  mo- 
ment over  his  rifle,  but,  scrupulous  in  his  wounded  pride, 
turned  away  and  left  the  familiar  weapon  that  in  the  dark 
days  had  so  often  provided  the  dinner  or  breakfast  of  the 
little  household.  Candor  compels  me  to  state  that  his  equip- 
ment was  not  large  nor  eminently  practical.  His  scant  pack 
was  a  light  weight  for  even  his  young  shoulders,  but  I  fear 
he  thought  more  of  getting  away  from  the  Past  than  pro- 
viding for  the  Future. 

With  this  vague  but  sole  purpose  he  left  the  cabin,  and 
almost  mechanically  turned  his  steps  towards  the  creek  he 
had  crossed  that  morning.  He  knew  that  by  this  route  he 
would  avoid  meeting  his  companions  ;  its  difficulties  and 
circuitousness  would  exercise  his  feverish  limbs  and  give 
him  time  for  reflection.  He  had  determined  to  leave  the 
claim,  but  whence  he  had  not  yet  considered.  He  reached 
the  bank  of  the  creek  where  he  had  stood  two  hours  before ; 
it  seemed  to  him  two  years.  He  looked  curiously  at  his 
reflection  in  one  of  the  broad  pools  of  overflow,  and  fancied 
he  looked  older.  He  watched  the  rush  and  outset  of  the 
turbid  current  hurrying  to  meet  the  South  Fork,  and  to 
eventually  lose  itself  in  the  yellow  Sacramento.  Even  in 
his  preoccupation  he  was  impressed  with  a  likeness  to  him- 
self and  his  companions  in  this  flood  that  had  burst  its 
peaceful  boundaries.  In  the  drifting  fragments  of  one  of 


He  looked  curiously  at  his  reflection. 


LEFT  OUT  ON  LONE   STAR  MOUNTAIN  205 

their  forgotten  flumes  washed  from  the  bank,  he  fancied  he 
saw  an  omen  of  the  disintegration  and  decay  of  the  Lone 
Star  claim. 

The  strange  hush  in  the  air  that  he  had  noticed  before 
—  a  calm  so  inconsistent  with  that  hour  and  the  season  as 
to  seem  portentous  —  became  more  marked  in  contrast  to 
the  feverish  rush  of  the  turbulent  watercourse.  A  few 
clouds  lazily  huddled  in  the  west  apparently  had  gone  to 
rest  with  the  sun  on  beds  of  somnolent  poppies.  There 
was  a  gleam  as  of  golden  water  everywhere  along  the  hori- 
zon, washing  out  the  cold  snow-peaks,  and  drowning  even 
the  rising  moon.  The  creek  caught  it  here  and  there,  until, 
in  grim  irony,  it  seemed  to  bear  their  broken  sluice-boxes 
and  useless  engines  on  the  very  Pactolian  stream  they  had 
been  hopefully  created  to  direct  and  carry.  But  by  some 
peculiar  trick  of  the  atmosphere  the  perfect  plenitude  of 
that  golden  sunset  glory  was  lavished  on  the  rugged  sides 
and  tangled  crest  of  the  Lone  Star  Mountain.  That  isolated 
peak,  the  landmark  of  their  claim,  the  gaunt  monument  of 
their  folly,  transfigured  in  the  evening  splendor,  kept  its 
radiance  unquenched  long  after  the  glow  had  fallen  from 
the  encompassing  skies  ;  and  when  at  last  the  rising  moon, 
step  by  step,  put  out  the  fires  along  the  winding  valley  and 
plains,  and  crept  up  the  bosky  sides  of  the  canon,  the  van- 
ishing sunset  was  lost  only  to  reappear  as  a  golden  crown. 

The  eyes  of  the  young  man  were  fixed  upon  it  with  more 
than  a  momentary  picturesque  interest.  It  had  been  the 
favorite  ground  of  his  prospecting  exploits,  its  lowest  flank 
had  been  scarred  in  the  old  enthusiastic  days  with  hydraulic 
engines,  or  pierced  with  shafts,  but  its  central  position  in 
the  claim  and  its  superior  height  had  always  given  it  a  com- 
manding view  of  the  extent  of  their  valley  and  its  approaches, 
and  it  was  this  practical  preeminence  that  alone  attracted 
him  at  that  moment.  He  knew  that  from  its  crest  he  would 
be  able  to  distinguish  the  figures  of  his  companions,  as  they 


206  LEFT  OUT   ON   LONE   STAR  MOUNTAIN 

crossed  the  valley  near  the  cabin,  in  the  growing  moonlight. 
Thus  he  could  avoid  encountering  them  on  his  way  to  the 
highroad,  and  yet  see  them,  perhaps,  for  the  last  time.  Even 
in  his  sense  of  injury  there  was  a  strange  satisfaction  in  the 
thought. 

The  ascent  was  toilsome,  hut  familiar.  All  along  the  dim 
trail  he  was  accompanied  by  gentler  memories  of  the  past, 
that  seemed,  like  the  faint  odor  of  spiced  leaves  and  fra- 
grant grasses  wet  with  the  rain  and  crushed  beneath  his 
ascending  tread,  to  exhale  the  sweeter  perfume  in  his  effort 
to  subdue  or  rise  above  them.  There  was  the  thicket  of 
manzanita,  where  they  had  broken  noonday  bread  together ; 
here  was  the  rock  beside  their  maiden  shafts,  where  they 
had  poured  a  wild  libation  in  boyish  enthusiasm  of  success ; 
and  here  the  ledge  where  their  first  flag,  a  red  shirt  heroic- 
ally sacrificed,  was  displayed  from  a  long-handled  shovel 
to  the  gaze  of  admirers  below.  When  he  at  last  reached 
the  summit,  the  mysterious  hush  was  still  in  the  air,  as  if 
in  breathless  sympathy  with  his  expedition.  In  the  west, 
the  plain  was  faintly  illuminated,  but  disclosed  no  moving 
figures.  He  turned  towards  the  rising  moon,  and  moved 
slowly  to  the  eastern  edge.  Suddenly  he  stopped.  Another 
step  would  have  been  his  last !  He  stood  upon  the  crum- 
bling edge  of  a  precipice.  A  landslip  had  taken  place  on 
the  eastern  flank,  leaving  the  gaunt  ribs  and  fleshless  bones 
of  Lone  Star  Mountain  bare  in  the  moonlight.  He  under- 
stood now  the  strange  rumble  and  reverberation  he  had 
heard ;  he  understood  now  the  strange  hush  of  bird  and 
beast  in  brake  and  thicket ! 

Although  a  single  rapid  glance  convinced  him  that  the 
slide  had  taken  place  in  an  xinfrequented  part  of  the  moun- 
tain, above  an  inaccessible  canon,  and  reflection  assured  him 
his  companions  could  not  have  reached  that  distance  when 
it  took  place,  a  feverish  impulse  led  him  to  descend  a  few 
rods  in  the  track  of  the  avalanche.  The  frequent  recur- 


LEFT  OUT   ON   LONE   STAR  MOUNTAIN  207 

rence  of  outcrop  and  angle  made  this  comparatively  easy. 
Here  he  called  aloud ;  the  feeble  echo  of  his  own  voice 
seemed  only  a  dull  impertinence  to  the  significant  silence. 
He  turned  to  reascend ;  the  furrowed  flank  of  the  mountain 
before  him  lay  full  in  the  moonlight.  To  his  excited  fancy 
a  dozen  luminous  starlike  points  in  the  rocky  crevices 
started  into  life  as  he  faced  them.  Throwing  his  arm  over 
the  ledge  above  him,  he  supported  himself  for  a  moment  by 
what  appeared  to  be  a  projection  of  the  solid  rock.  It 
trembled  slightly.  As  he  raised  himself  to  its  level,  his 
heart  stopped  beating.  If  was  simply  a  fragment  detached 
from  the  outcrop,  lying  loosely  on  the  ledge  but  upholding 
him  by  its  own  weight  only.  He  examined  it  with  trem- 
bling fingers  ;  the  encumbering  soil  fell  from  its  sides  and 
left  its  smoothed  and  worn  protuberances  glistening  in  the 
moonlight.  It  was  virgin  gold ! 

Looking  back  upon  that  moment  afterwards,  he  remem- 
bered that  he  was  not  dazed,  dazzled,  or  startled.  It  did 
not  come  to  him  as  a  discovery  or  an  accident,  a  stroke  of 
chance  or  a  caprice  of  fortune.  He  saw  it  all  in  that  su- 
preme moment ;  Nature  had  worked  out  their  poor  deduc- 
tion. What  their  feeble  engines  had  essayed  spasmodically 
and  helplessly  against  the  curtain  of  soil  that  hid  the  trea- 
sure, the  elements  had  achieved  with  mightier  but  more 
patient  forces.  The  slow  sapping  of  the  winter  rains  had 
loosened  the  soil  from  the  auriferous  rock,  even  while  the 
swollen  stream  was  carrying  their  impotent  and  shattered 
engines  to  the  sea.  What  mattered  that  his  single  arm 
could  not  lift  the  treasure  he  had  found ;  what  mattered 
that  to  unfix  those  glittering  stars  would  still  tax  both  skill 
and  patience  !  The  work  was  done,  the  goal  was  reached ! 
Even  his  boyish  impatience  was  content  with  that.  He 
rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  unstrapped  his  long-handled  shovel 
from  his  back,  secured  it  in  the  crevice,  and  quietly  regained 
the  summit. 


208  LEFT  OUT  ON  LONE   STAR  MOUNTAIN 

It  was  all  his  own  !  His  own  by  right  of  discovery 
under  the  law  of  the  land,  and  without  accepting  a  favor 
from  them.  He  recalled  even  the  fact  that  it  was  his  pro- 
specting on  the  mountain  that  first  suggested  the  existence 
of  gold  in  the  outcrop  and  the  use  of  the  hydraulic.  He 
had  never  abandoned  that  belief,  whatever  the  others  had 
done.  He  dwelt  somewhat  indignantly  to  himself  on  this 
circumstance,  and  half  unconsciously  faced  defiantly  to- 
wards the  plain  below.  But  it  was  sleeping  peacefully  in 
the  full  sight  of  the  moon,  without  life  or  motion.  He 
looked  at  the  stars,  it  was  still  far  from  midnight.  His 
companions  had  no  doubt  long  since  returned  to  the  cabin 
to  prepare  for  their  midnight  journey.  They  were  dis- 
cussing him,  perhaps  laughing  at  him,  or  worse,  pitying 
him  and  his  bargain.  Yet  here  was  his  bargain !  A  slight 
laugh  he  gave  vent  to  here  startled  him  a  little,  it  sounded 
so  hard  and  so  unmirthful,  and  so  unlike,  as  he  oddly 
fancied,  what  he  really  thought.  But  what  did  he  think  ? 

Nothing  mean  or  revengeful ;  no,  they  never  would  say 
that.  When  he  had  taken  out  all  the  surface  gold  and 
put  the  mine  in  working  order,  he  would  send  them  each 
a  draft  for  a  thousand  dollars.  Of  course,  if  they  were 
ever  ill  or  poor  he  would  do  more.  One  of  the  first,  the 
very  first  things  he  should  do  would  be  to  send  them  each 
a  handsome  gun,  and  tell  them  that  he  only  asked  in  return 
the  old-fashioned  rifle  that  once  was  his.  Looking  back 
at  the  moment  in  after-years,  he  wondered  that,  with  this 
exception,  he  made  no  plans  for  his  own  future,  or  the  way 
he  should  dispose  of  his  newly  acquired  wealth.  This  was 
the  more  singular  as  it  had  been  the  custom  of  the  five 
partners  to  lie  awake  at  night,  audibly  comparing  with  each 
other  what  they  would  do  in  case  they  made  a  strike.  He 
remembered  how,  Alnaschar-like,  they  nearly  separated 
once  over  a  difference  in  the  disposal  of  a  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars  that  they  never  had,  nor  expected  to  have. 


LEFT   OUT   ON  LONE   STAR  MOUNTAIN  209 

He  remembered  how  Union  Mills  always  began  his  career 
as  a  millionaire  by  a  "  square  meal "  at  Delmonico's  ;  how 
the  Right  Bower's  initial  step  was  always  a  trip  home  "  to 
see  his  mother ; "  how  the  Left  Bower  would  immediately 
placate  the  parents  of  his  beloved  with  priceless  gifts  (it 
may  be  parenthetically  remarked  that  the  parents  and  the 
beloved  one  were  as  hypothetical  as  the  fortune)  ;  and  how 
the  Judge  would  make  his  first  start  as  a  capitalist  by 
breaking  a  certain  faro  bank  in  Sacramento.  He  himself 
had  been  equally  eloquent  in  extravagant  fancy  in  those 
penniless  days.  —  he  who  now  was  quite  cold  and  impassive 
beside  the  more  extravagant  reality. 

How  different  it  might  have  been !  If  they  had  only 
waited  a  day  longer !  if  they  had  only  broken  'their  resolves 
to  him  kindly  and  parted  in  good  will !  How  he  would 
long  ere  this  have  rushed  to  greet  them  with  the  joyful 
news  !  How  they  would  have  danced  around  it,  sung 
themselves  hoarse,  laughed  down  their  enemies,  and  run  up 
the  flag  triumphantly  on  the  summit  of  the  Lone  Star 
Mountain  !  How  they  would  have  crowned  him,  the  "  Old 
Man,"  "  the  hero  of  the  camp "  !  How  he  would  have 
told  them  the  whole  story ;  how  some  strange  instinct  had 
impelled  him  to  ascend  the  summit,  and  how  another  step 
on  that  summit  would  have  precipitated  him  into  the  canon  ! 
And  how  —  But  what  if  somebody  else,  Union  Mills  or  the 
Judge,  had  been  the  first  discoverer  ?  Might  they  not 
have  meanly  kept  the  secret  from  him ;  have  selfishly 
helped  themselves,  and  done  — 

"  What  you  are  doing  now." 

The  hot  blood  rushed  to  his  cheek,  as  if  a  strange  voice 
were  at  his  ear.  For  a  moment  he  could  not  believe  that 
it  came  from  his  own  pale  lips  until  he  found  himself 
speaking.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  tingling  with  shame,  and 
began  hurriedly  to  descend  the  mountain. 

He  would  go  to  them,  tell  them  of  his  discovery,  let  them 


210  LEFT  OUT   ON   LONE   STAR   MOUNTAIN 

give  him  his  share,  and  leave  them  forever.  It  was  the 
only  thing  to  be  done  —  strange  that  he  had  not  thought 
of  it  at  once.  Yet  it  was  hard,  very  hard  and  cruel,  to  be 
forced  to  meet  them  again.  What  had  he  done  to  suffer 
this  mortification  ?  For  a  moment  he  actually  hated  this 
vulgar  treasure  that  had  forever  buried  under  its  gross  pon- 
derability the  light  and  careless  past,  and  utterly  crushed 
out  the  poetry  of  their  old,  indolent,  happy  existence. 

He  was  sure  to  find  them  waiting  at  the  Cross-Koads 
where  the  coach  came  past.  It  was  three  miles  away,  yet 
he  could  get  there  in  time  if  he  hastened.  It  was  a  wise 
and  practical  conclusion  of  his  evening's  work,  a  lame  and 
impotent  conclusion  to  his  evening's  indignation.  No  mat- 
ter. They  would  perhaps  at  first  think  he  had  come  to 
weakly  follow  them,  perhaps  they  would  at  first  doubt  his 
story.  No  matter.  He  bit  his  lips  to  keep  down  the  fool- 
ish rising  tears,  but  still  went  blindly  forward. 

He  saw  not  the  beautiful  night,  cradled  in  the  dark  hills, 
swathed  in  luminous  mists,  and  hushed  in  the  awe  of  its 
own  loveliness  !  Here  and  there  the  moon  had  laid  her 
calm  face  on  lake  and  overflow,  and  gone  to  sleep  embracing 
them,  until  the  whole  plain  seemed  to  be  lifted  into  infinite 
quiet.  Walking  on  as  in  a  dream,  the  black,  impenetrable 
barriers  of  skirting  thickets  opened  and  gave  way  to  vague 
distances  that  it  appeared  impossible  to  reach,  dim  vistas 
that  seemed  unapproachable.  Gradually  he  seemed  himself 
to  become  a  part  of  the  mysterious  night.  He  was  becom- 
ing as  pulseless,  as  calm,  as  passionless. 

What  was  that  ?  A  shot  in  the  direction  of  the  cabin  ! 
yet  so  faint,  so  echoless,  so  ineffective  in  the  vast  silence, 
that  he  would  have  thought  it  his  fancy  but  for  the  strange 
instinctive  jar  upon  his  sensitive  nerves.  Was  it  an  acci- 
dent, or  was  it  an  intentional  signal  to  him  ?  He  stopped  ; 
it  was  not  repeated ;  the  silence  reasserted  itself,  but  this 
time  with  an  ominous  deathlike  suggestion.  A  sudden  and 


LEFT   OUT   ON   LONE   STAK   MOUNTAIN  211 

terrible  thought  crossed  his  mind.  He  cast  aside  his  pack 
and  all  encumbering  weight,  took  a  deep  breath,  lowered 
his  head,  and  darted  like  a  deer  in  the  direction  of  the 
challenge. 

n 

The  exodus  of  the  seceding  partners  of  the  Lone  Star 
claim  had  been  scarcely  an  imposing  one.  For  the  first  five 
minutes  after  quitting  the  cabin  the  procession  was  strag- 
gling and  vagabond.  Unwonted  exertion  had  exaggerated 
the  lameness  of  some,  and  feebleness  of  moral  purpose 
had  predisposed  the  others  to  obtrusive  musical  exhibition. 
Union  Mills  limped  and  whistled  with  affected  abstraction ; 
the  Judge  whistled  and  limped  with  affected  earnestness. 
The  Eight  Bower  led  the  way  with  some  show  of  definite 
design;  the  Left  Bower  followed  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  The  two  feebler  natures,  drawn  together  in  uncon- 
scious sympathy,  looked  vaguely  at  each  other  for  support. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  Judge  suddenly,  as  if  triumphantly 
concluding  an  argument,  "  there  ain't  anything  better  for  a 
young  fellow  than  independence.  Nature,  so  to  speak, 
points  the  way.  Look  at  the  animals." 

"  There  's  a  skunk  hereabouts,"  said  Union  Mills,  who 
was  supposed  to  be  gifted  with  aristocratically  sensitive 
nostrils,  "  within  ten  miles  of  this  place  ;  like  as  not  cross- 
ing the  Kidge.  It 's  always  my  luck  to  happen  out  just  at 
such  times.  I  don't  see  the  necessity  anyhow  of  trapesing 
round  the  claim  now,  if  we  calculate  to  leave  it  to-night." 

Both  men  waited  to  observe  if  the  suggestion  was  taken 
up  by  the  Right  and  Left  Bowers  moodily  plodding  ahead. 
No  response  following,  the  Judge  shamelessly  abandoned 
his  companion. 

"  You  would  n't  stand  snoopin'  round  instead  of  lettin' 
the  Old  Man  get  used  to  the  idea  alone  ?  No  j  I  could  see 


212  LEFT  OUT  ON  LONE   STAR  MOUNTAIN 

all  along  that  he  was  takin'  it  in,  takin'  it  in  kindly  but 
slowly,  and  I  reckoned  the  best  thing  for  us  to  do  was  to 
git  up  and  git  until  he  'd  got  round  it."  The  Judge's  voice 
was  slightly  raised  for  the  benefit  of  the  two  before  him. 

"  Did  n't  he  say,"  remarked  the  Eight  Bower,  stopping 
suddenly  and  facing  the  others,  "  did  n't  he  say  that  that 
new  trader  was  goin'  to  let  him  have  some  provisions  any- 
way ?  " 

Union  Mills  turned  appealingly  to  the  Judge  ;  that  gen- 
tleman was  forced  to  reply,  "  Yes  ;  I  remember  distinctly 
he  said  it.  It  was  one  of  the  things  I  was  particular  about 
on  his  account,"  responded  the  Judge,  with  the  air  of  hav- 
ing arranged  it  all  himself  with  the  new  trader.  "  I  re- 
member I  was  easier  in  my  mind  about  it." 

"  But  did  n't  he  say,"  queried  the  Left  Bower,  also  stop- 
ping short,  "  suthin'  about  its  being  contingent  on  our  doing 
some  work  on  the  race  ?  " 

The  Judge  turned  for  support  to  Union  Mills,  who,  how- 
ever, under  the  hollow  pretense  of  preparing  for  a  long  con- 
ference, had  luxuriously  seated  himself  on  a  stump.  The 
Judge  sat  down  also,  and  replied  hesitatingly,  "  Well,  yes  ! 
Us  or  him.-" 

"  Us  or  him,"  repeated  the  Eight  Bower,  with  gloomy 
irony.  "  And  you  ain't  quite  clear  in  your  mind,  are  you, 
if  you  have  n't  done  the  work  already  ?  You  're  just  kill- 
ing yourself  with  this  spontaneous,  promiscuous,  and  pre- 
mature overwork  ;  that 's  what 's  the  matter  with  you." 

"  I  reckon  I  heard  somebody  say  suthin'  about  its  being 
a  Chinaman's  three-day  job,"  interpolated  the  Left  Bower, 
with  equal  irony ;  "  but  I  ain't  quite  clear  in  my  mind  about 
that." 

"  It  '11  be  a  sorter  distraction  for  the  Old  Man,"  said 
Union  Mills  feebly,  —  "  kinder  take  his  mind  off  his  lone- 
liness." 

Nobody    taking  the  least  notice  of  the  remark,  Union 


LEFT   OUT  ON  LONE   STAR  MOUNTAIN  213 

Mills  stretched  out  his  legs  more  comfortably  and  took  out 
his  pipe.  He  had  scarcely  done  so  when  the  Eight  Bower, 
wheeling  suddenly,  set  off  in  the  direction  of  the  creek. 
The  Left  Bower,  after  a  slight  pause,  followed  without  a 
word.  The  Judge,  wisely  conceiving  it  better  to  join  the 
stronger  party,  ran  feebly  after  him,  and  left  Union  Mills 
to  bring  up  a  weak  and  vacillating  rear. 

Their  course,  diverging  from  Lone  Star  Mountain,  led 
them  now  directly  to  the  bend  of  the  creek,  the  base  of 
their  old  ineffectual  operations.  Here  was  the  beginning  of 
the  famous  tail-race  that  skirted  the  new  trader's  claim,  and 
then  lost  its  way  in  a  swampy  hollow.  It  was  choked  with 
ddbris ;  a  thin,  yellow  stream  that  once  ran  through  it  seemed 
to  have  stopped  work  when  they  did,  and  gone  into  green- 
ish liquidation. 

They  had  scarcely  spoken  during  this  brief  journey,  and 
had  received  no  other  explanation  from  the  Right  Bower, 
who  led  them,  than  that  afforded  by  his  mute  example  when 
he  reached  the  race.  Leaping  into  it  without  a  word,  he  at 
once  began  to  clear  away  the  broken  timbers  and  driftwood. 
Fired  by  the  spectacle  of  what  appeared  to  be  a  new  and 
utterly  frivolous  game,  the  men  gayly  leaped  after  him,  and 
were  soon  engaged  in  a  fascinating  struggle  with  the  impeded 
race.  The  Judge  forgot  his  lameness  in  springing  over  a 
broken  sluice  -  box  ;  Union  Mills  forgot  his  whistle  in  a 
happy  imitation  of  a  Chinese  coolie's  song.  Nevertheless, 
after  ten  minutes  of  this  mild  dissipation,  the  pastime 
flagged ;  Union  Mills  was  beginning  to  rub  his  leg,  when  a 
distant  rumble  shook  the  earth.  The  men  looked  at  each 
other ;  the  diversion  was  complete ;  a  languid  discussion  of 
the  probabilities  of  its  being  an  earthquake  or  a  blast  fol- 
lowed, in  the  midst  of  which  the  Eight  Bower,  who  was 
working  a  little  in  advance  of  the  others,  uttered  a  warning 
cry  and  leaped  from  the  race.  His  companions  had  barely 
time  to  follow  before  a  sudden  and  inexplicable  rise  in  the 


214  LEFT   OUT   ON  LONE   STAR   MOUNTAIN 

waters  of  the  creek  sent  a  swift  irruption  of  the  flood 
through  the  race.  In  an  instant  its  choked  and  impeded 
channel  was  cleared,  the  race  was  free,  and  the  scattered  de- 
bris of  logs  and  timher  floated  upon  its  easy  current.  Quick 
to  take  advantage  of  this  labor  -  saving  phenomenon,  the 
Lone  Star  partners  sprang  into  the  water,  and  by  disentan- 
gling and  directing  the  eddying  fragments  completed  their 
work. 

"  The  Old  Man  oughter  been  here  to  see  this,"  said  the 
Left  Bower ;  "  it 's  just  one  o'  them  climaxes  of  poetic 
justice  he 's  always  huntin'  up.  It 's  easy  to  see  what 's 
happened.  One  o'  them  high-toned  shrimps  over  in  the  Ex- 
celsior claim  has  put  a  blast  in  too  near  the  creek.  He  's 
tumbled  the  bank  into  the  creek,  and  sent  the  backwater 
down  here  just  to  wash  out  our  race.  That 's  what  I  call 
poetical  retribution." 

"  And  who  was  it  advised  us  to  dam  the  creek  below  the 
race  and  make  it  do  the  thing  ?  "  asked  the  Eight  Bower 
moodily. 

"  That  was  one  of  the  Old  Man's  ideas,  I  reckon,"  said 
the  Left  Bower  dubiously. 

"And  you  remember,"  broke  in  the  Judge  with  anima- 
tion, "  I  allus  said,  '  Go  slow,  go  slow.  You  just  hold  on, 
and  suthin'  will  happen.'  And,"  he  added  triumphantly, 
"  you  see  suthin'  has  happened.  I  don't  want  to  take  credit 
to  myself,  but  I  reckoned  on  them  Excelsior  boys  bein' 
fools,  and  took  the  chances." 

"  And  what  if  I  happen  to  know  that  the  Excelsior  boys 
ain't  blastin'  to-day  ?  "  said  the  Eight  Bower  sarcastically. 

As  the  Judge  had  evidently  based  his  hypothesis  on  the 
alleged  fact  of  a  blast,  he  deftly  evaded  the  point.  "  I 
ain't  sayin'  the  Old  Man's  head  ain't  level  on  some  things ; 
he  wants  a  little  more  sabe  of  the  world.  He 's  improved  a 
good  deal  in  euchre  lately,  and  in  poker — well !  he  's  got 
that  sorter  dreamy,  listenin'-to-the-angels  kind  o'  way  that 


LEFT   OUT   ON   LONE   STAR   MOUNTAIN  215 

you  can't  exactly  tell  whether  he's  bluffin'  or  has  got  a  full 
hand.  Hasn't  he  ?  "  he  asked,  appealing  to  Union  Mills. 

But  that  gentleman,  who  had  been  watching  the  dark  face 
of  the  Eight  Bower,  preferred  to  take  what  he  believed  to 
be  his  cue  from  him.  "  That  ain't  the  question,"  he  said 
virtuously  ;  "  we  ain't  takin'  this  step  to  make  a  card-sharp 
out  of  him.  We  're  not  doin'  Chinamen's  work  in  this  race 
to-day  for  that.  No,  sir  !  We  're  teachin'  him  to  paddle 
his  own  canoe."  Not  finding  the  sympathetic  response  he 
looked  for  in  the  Right  Bower's  face,  he  turned  to  the  Left. 

"  I  reckon  we  were  teachin'  him  our  canoe  was  too  full," 
was  the  Left  Bower's  unexpected  reply.  "  That 's  about 
the  size  of  it." 

The  Right  Bower  shot  a  rapid  glance  under  his  brows  at 
his  brother.  The  latter,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  stared 
unconsciously  at  the  rushing  water,  and  then  quietly  turned 
away.  The  Right  Bower  followed  him.  "  Are  you  goin' 
back  on  us  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Are  you  ?  "  responded  the  other. 

"  No !  " 

"  No,  then,  it  is,"  returned  the  Left  Bower  quietly.  The 
elder  brother  hesitated  in  half-angry  embarrassment. 

"  Then  what  did  you  mean  by  saying  we  reckoned  our 
canoe  was  too  full  ?  " 

"  Was  n't  that  our  idea  ?  "  returned  the  Left  Bower  in- 
differently. Confounded  by  this  practical  expression  of 
his  own  unformulated  good  intentions,  the  Right  Bower  was 
staggered. 

"  Speakin'  of  the  Old  Man,"  broke  in  the  Judge,  with 
characteristic  infelicity,  "  I  reckon  he  '11  sort  o'  miss  us, 
times  like  these.  We  were  allers  runnin'  him  and  bedev- 
ilin'  him,  after  work,  just  to  get  him  excited  and  amusin', 
and  he  '11  kinder  miss  that  sort  o'  stimulatin'.  I  reckon 
we  '11  miss  it  too,  somewhat.  Don't  you  remember,  boys, 
the  night  we  put  up  that  little  sell  on  him  and  made  him 


216  LEFT   OUT   ON   LONE   STAR  MOUNTAIN 

believe  we  'd  struck  it  rich  in  the  bank  of  the  creek,  and 
got  him  so  conceited  he  wanted  to  go  off  and  settle  all  our 
debts  at  once  ?  " 

"  And  how  I  came  bustin'  into  the  cabin  with  a  pan  full 
of  iron  pyrites  and  black  sand,"  chuckled  Union  Mills,  con- 
tinuing the  reminiscences,  "  and  how  them  big  gray  eyes  of 
his  nearly  bulged  out  of  his  head.  Well,  it 's  some  satis- 
faction to  know  we  did  our  duty  by  the  young  fellow  even 
in  those  little  things."  He  turned  for  confirmation  of  their 
general  disinterestedness  to  the  Eight  Bower,  but  he  was 
already  striding  away,  uneasily  conscious  of  the  lazy  follow- 
ing of  the  Left  Bower,  like  a  laggard  conscience  at  his  back. 
This  movement  again  threw  Union  Mills  and  the  Judge  into 
feeble  complicity  in  the  rear,  as  the  procession  slowly  strag- 
gled homeward  from  the  creek. 

Night  had  fallen.  Their  way  lay  through  the  shadow  of 
Lone  Star  Mountain,  deepened  here  and  there  by  the  slight, 
bosky  ridges  that,  starting  from  its  base,  crept  across  the 
plain  like  vast  roots  of  its  swelling  trunk.  The  shadows 
were  growing  blacker  as  the  moon  began  to  assert  itself  over 
the  rest  of  the  valley,  when  the  Eight  Bower  halted  sud- 
denly on  one  of  these  ridges.  The  Left  Bower  lounged  up 
to  him,  and  stopped  also,  while  the  two  others  came  up  and 
completed  the  group. 

"  There  's  no  light  in  the  shanty,"  said  the  Eight  Bower 
in  a  low  voice,  half  to  himself  and  half  in  answer  to  their 
inquiring  attitude.  The  men  followed  the  direction  of  his 
finger.  In  the  distance  the  black  outline  of  the  Lone  Star 
cabin  stood  out  distinctly  in  the  illumined  space.  There 
was  the  black,  sightless,  external  glitter  of  moonlight  on  its 
two  windows  that  seemed  to  reflect  its  dim  vacancy,  empty 
alike  of  light  and  warmth  and  motion. 

"  That 's  sing'lar,"  said  the  Judge  in  an  awed  whisper. 

The  Left  Bower,  by  simply  altering  the  position  of  his 
hands  in  his  trousers'  pockets,  managed  to  suggest  that  he 


LEFT  OUT   ON  LONE   STAR  MOUNTAIN  217 

knew  perfectly  the  meaning  of  it,  had  always  known  it ; 
but  that  being  now,  so  to  speak,  in  the  hands  of  Fate,  he 
was  callous  to  it.  This  much,  at  least,  the  elder  brother 
read  in  his  attitude.  But  anxiety  at  that  moment  was  the 
controlling  impulse  of  the  Right  Bower,  as  a  certain  super- 
stitious remorse  was  the  instinct  of  the  two  others ;  and  with- 
out heeding  th'e  cynic,  the  three  started  at  a  rapid  pace  for 
the  cabin. 

They  reached  it  silently,  as  the  moon,  now  riding  high 
in  the  heavens,  seemed  to  touch  it  with  the  tender  grace 
and  hushed  repose  of  a  tomb.  It  was  with  something  of 
this  feeling  that  the  Eight  Bower  softly  pushed  open  the 
door  ;  it  was  with  something  of  this  dread  that  the  two 
others  lingered  on  the  threshold,  until  the  Eight  Bower, 
after  vainly  trying  to  stir  the  dead  embers  on  the  hearth 
into  life  with  his  foot,  struck  a  match  and  lit  their  solitary 
candle.  Its  flickering  light  revealed  the  familiar  interior 
unchanged  in  aught  but  one  thing.  The  bunk  that  the  Old 
Man  had  occupied  was  stripped  of  its  blankets ;  the  few 
cheap  ornaments  and  photographs  were  gone  ;  the  rude 
poverty  of  the  bare  boards  and  scant  pallet  looked  up  at 
them  unrelieved  by  the  bright  face  and  gracious  youth  that 
had  once  made  them  tolerable.  In  the  grim  irony  of  that 
exposure,  their  own  penury  was  doubly  conscious.  The  lit- 
tle knapsack,  the  tea-cup,  and  coffee-pot  that  had  hung  near 
his  bed  were  gone  also.  The  most  indignant  protest,  the 
most  pathetic  of  the  letters  he  had  composed  and  rejected, 
whose  torn  fragments  still  littered  the  floor,  could  never 
have  spoken  with  the  eloquence  of  this  empty  space  !  The 
men  exchanged  no  words  ;  the  solitude  of  the  cabin,  instead 
of  drawing  them  together,  seemed  to  isolate  each  one  in 
selfish  distrust  of  the  others.  Even  the  unthinking  gar- 
rulity of  Union  Mills  and  the  Judge  was  checked.  A 
moment  later,  when  the  Left  Bower  entered  the  cabin,  his 
presence  was  scarcely  noticed. 


218  LEFT   OUT  ON  LONE   STAR  MOUNTAIN 

The  silence  was  broken  by  a  joyous  exclamation  from 
the  Judge.  He  had  discovered  the  Old  Man's  rifle  in  the 
corner,  where  it  had  been  at  first  overlooked.  "  He  ain't 
gone  yet,  gentlemen  —  for  yer  's  his  rifle,"  he  broke  in, 
with  a  feverish  return  of  volubility,  and  a  high  excited 
falsetto.  "  He  would  n't  have  left  this  behind.  No  !  I 
knowed  it  from  the  first.  He  's  just  outside  a  bit,  foraging 
for  wood  and  water.  No,  sir  !  Coming  along  here  I  said 
to  Union  Mills  —  did  n't  I  ?  —  <  Bet  your  life  the  Old 
Man 's  not  far  off,  even  if  he  ain't  in  the  cabin.'  Why,  the 
moment  I  stepped  foot  "  — 

"And  I  said  coming  along,"  interrupted  Union  Mills, 
with  equally  reviving  mendacity,  '  Like  as  not  he  's  hangin' 
round  yer  and  lyin'  low  just  to  give  us  a  surprise.'  He ! 
ho!" 

"  He  's  gone  for  good,  and  he  left  that  rifle  here  on  pur- 
," said  the  Left  Bower  in 
almost  tenderly  in  his  hands. 

"  Drop  it,  then !  "  said  the  Eight  Bower.  The  voice  was 
that  of  his  brother,  but  suddenly  changed  with  passion. 
The  two  other  partners  drew  back  in  alarm. 

"  I  '11  not  leave  it  here  for  the  first  comer,"  said  the  Left 
Bower  calmly,  "  because  we  've  been  fools,  and  he,  too. 
It 's  too  good  a  weapon  for  that." 

"  Drop  it,  I  say !  "  said  the  Eight  Bower,  with  a  savage 
stride  towards  him. 

The  younger  brother  brought  the  rifle  to  a  half  charge 
with  a  white  face  but  a  steady  eye. 

"  Stop  where  you  are  !  "  he  said  collectedly.  "  Don't 
row  with  me,  because  you  have  n't  either  the  grit  to  stick 
to  your  ideas  or  the  heart  to  confess  them  wrong.  We  've 
followed  your  lead,  and  —  here  we  are !  The  camp 's 
broken  up  —  the  Old  Man 's  gone  —  and  we  're  going.  And 
as  for  the  d— d  rifle  "  — 

"  Drop   it,  do  you    hear !  "  shouted    the  Eight  Bower, 


LEFT  OUT  ON  LONE  STAR  MOUNTAIN      219 

clinging  to  that  one  idea  with  the  blind  pertinacity  of  rage 
and  a  losing  cause.  "  Drop  it !  " 

The  Left  Bower  drew  back,  but  his  brother  had  seized 
the  barrel  with  both  hands.  There  was  a  momentary  strug- 
gle, a  flash  through  the  half-lighted  cabin,  and  a  shattering 
report.  The  two  men  fell  back  from  each  other;  the  rifle 
dropped  on  the  floor  between  them. 

The  whole  thing  was  over  so  quickly  that  the  other  two 
partners  had  not  had  time  to  obey  their  common  impulse 
to  separate  them,  and  consequently  even  now  could  scarcely 
understand  what  had  passed.  It  was  over  so  quickly  that 
the  two  actors  themselves  walked  back  to  their  places, 
scarcely  realizing  their  own  act. 

A  dead  silence  followed.  The  Judge  and  Union  Mills 
looked  at  each  other  in  dazed  astonishment,  and  then  ner- 
vously set  about  their  former  habits,  apparently  in  that 
fatuous  belief  common  to  such  natures,  that  they  were  ig- 
noring a  painful  situation.  The  Judge  drew  the  barrel 
towards  him,  picked  up  the  cards,  and  began  mechanically 
to  "  make  a  patience,"  on  which  Union  Mills  gazed  with 
ostentatious  interest,  but  with  eyes  furtively  conscious  of 
the  rigid  figure  of  the  Eight  Bower  by  the  chimney  and 
the  abstracted  face  of  the  Left  Bower  at  the  door.  Ten 
minutes  had  passed  in  this  occupation,  the  Judge  and  Union 
Mills  conversing  in  the  furtive  whispers  of  children  una- 
voidably but  fascinatedly  present  at  a  family  quarrel,  when 
a  light  step  was  heard  upon  the  crackling  brushwood  out- 
side, and  the  bright  panting  face  of  the  Old  Man  appeared 
upon  the  threshold.  There  was  a  shout  of  joy ;  in  another 
moment  he  was  half  buried  in  the  bosom  of  the  Eight 
Bower's  shirt,  half  dragged  into  the  lap  of  the  Judge,  upset- 
ting the  barrel,  and  completely  encompassed  by  the  Left 
Bower  and  Union  Mills.  With  the  enthusiastic  utterance 
of  his  name  the  spell  was  broken. 

Happily  unconscious  of  the  previous  excitement  that  had 


220      LEFT  OUT  ON  LONE  STAR  MOUNTAIN 

provoked  this  spontaneous  unanimity  of  greeting,  the  Old 
Man,  equally  relieved,  at  once  broke  into  a  feverish  an- 
nouncement of  his  discovery.  He  painted  the  details,  with, 
I  fear,  a  slight  exaggeration  of  coloring,  due  partly  to  his 
own  excitement,  and  partly  to  justify  their  own.  But  he 
was  strangely  conscious  that  these  bankrupt  men  appeared 
less  elated  with  their  personal  interest  in  their  stroke  of 
fortune  than  with  his  own  success.  "  I  told  you  he  'd  do 
it,"  said  the  Judge,  with  a  reckless  unscrupulousness  of  the 
statement  that  carried  everybody  with  it ;  "  look  at  him ! 
the  game  little  pup."  "  Oh,  no  !  he  ain't  the  right  breed, 
is  he  ?  "  echoed  Union  Mills  with  arch  irony,  while  the 
Right  and  Left  Bower,  grasping  either  hand,  pressed  a 
proud  but  silent  greeting  that  was  half  new  to  him,  but 
wholly  delicious.  It  was  not  without  difficulty  that  he 
could  at  last  prevail  upon  them  to  return  with  him  to  the 
scene  of  his  discovery,  or  even  then  restrain  them  from  at- 
tempting to  carry  him  thither  on  their  shoulders  on  the 
plea  of  his  previous  prolonged  exertions.  Once  only  there 
was  a  momentary  embarrassment.  "  Then  you  fired  that 
shot  to  bring  me  back  ?  "  said  the  Old  Man  gratefully.  In 
the  awkward  silence  that  followed,  the  hands  of  the  two 
brothers  sought  and  grasped  each  other  penitently.  "  Yes," 
interposed  the  Judge,  with  delicate  tact,  "  ye  see  the  Eight 
and  Left  Bower  almost  quarreled  to  see  which  should  be 
the  first  to  fire  for  ye.  I  disremember  which  did  "  —  "I 
never  touched  the  trigger,"  said  the  Left  Bower  hastily. 
With  a  hurried  backward  kick,  the  Judge  resumed,  "  It 
went  off  sorter  spontaneous." 

The  difference  in  the  sentiment  of  the  procession  that 
once  more  issued  from  the  Lone  Star  cabin  did  not  fail 
to  show  itself  in  each  individual  partner  according  to  his 
temperament.  The  subtle  tact  of  Union  Mills,  however, 
in  expressing  an  awakened  respect  for  their  fortunate  part- 
ner by  addressing  him,  as  if  unconsciously,  as  "  Mr.  Ford  " 


LEFT   OUT   ON   LONE   STAR   MOUNTAIN  221 

was  at  first  discomposing,  but  even  this  was  forgotten  in 
their  breathless  excitement  as  they  neared  the  base  of  the 
mountain.  When  they  had  crossed  the  creek  the  Eight 
Bower  stopped  reflectively. 

"  You  say  you  heard  the  slide  come  down  before  you  left 
the  cabin  ?  "  he  said,  turning  to  the  Old  Man. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  did  not  know  then  what  it  was.  It  was 
about  an  hour  and  a  half  after  you  left,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Then  look  here,  boys,"  continued  the  Eight  Bower 
with  superstitious  exultation  ;  "  it  was  the  slide  that  tum- 
bled into  the  creek,  overflowed  it,  and  helped  us  clear  out 
the  race  !  " 

It  seemed  so  clear  that  Providence  had  taken  the  part- 
ners of  the  Lone  Star  directly  in  hand  that  they  faced  the 
toilsome  ascent  of  the  mountain  with  the  assurance  of  con- 
querors. They  paused  only  on  the  summit  to  allow  the 
Old  Man  to  lead  the  way  to  the  slope  that  held  their  trea- 
sure. He  advanced  cautiously  to  the  edge  of  the  crumbling 
cliff,  stopped,  looked  bewildered,  advanced  again,  and  then 
remained  white  and  immovable.  In  an  instant  the  Eight 
Bower  was  at  his  side. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter  ?  Don't  —  don't  look  so,  Old 
Man,  for  God's  sake  !  " 

The  Old  Man  pointed  to  the  dull,  smooth,  black  side  of 
the  mountain,  without  a  crag,  break,  or  protuberance,  and 
said  with  ashen  lips,  — 

"  It 's  gone  !  " 

And  it  was  gone  !  A  second  slide  had  taken  place,  strip- 
ping the  flank  of  the  mountain,  and  burying  the  treasure 
and  the  weak  implement  that  had  marked  its  side  deep 
under  a  chaos  of  rock  and  ddbris  at  its  base. 

"  Thank  God !  "  The  blank  faces  of  his  companions 
turned  quickly  to  the  Eight  Bower.  "  Thank  God  !  "  he 
repeated,  with  his  arm  round  the  neck  of  the  Old  Man, 


222  LEFT  OUT  ON  LONE  STAR   MOUNTAIN 

"  Had  he  stayed  behind  he  would  have  been  buried  too." 
He  paused,  and,  pointing  solemnly  to  the  depths  below, 
said,  "  And  thank  God  for  showing  us  where  we  may  yet 
labor  for  it  in  hope  and  patience  like  honest  men." 

The  men  silently  bowed  their  heads  and  slowly  descended 
the  mountain.  But  when  they  had  reached  the  plain  one 
of  them  called  out  to  the  others  to  watch  a  star  that  seemed 
to  be  rising  and  moving  towards  them  over  the  hushed  and 
sleeping  valley. 

"  It 's  only  the  stage-coach,  boys,"  said  the  Left  Bower, 
smiling ;  "  the  coach  that  was  to  take  us  away." 

In  the  security  of  their  new-found  fraternity  they  re- 
solved to  wait  and  see  it  pass.  As  it  swept  by  with  flash 
of  light,  beat  of  hoofs,  and  jingle  of  harness,  the  only  real 
presence  in  the  dreamy  landscape,  the  driver  shouted  a 
hoarse  greeting  to  the  phantom  partners,  audible  only  to 
the  Judge,  who  was  nearest  the  vehicle. 

"  Did  you  hear  —  did  you  hear  what  he  said,  boys  ?  " 
he  gasped,  turning  to  his  companions.  "  No  ?  Shake 
hands  all  round,  boys !  God  bless  you  all,  boys  !  To 
think  we  did  n't  know  it  all  this  while  !  " 

"  Know  what  ?  " 

"Merry  Christmas!" 


A  SHIP  OF  '49 


IT  had  rained  so  persistently  in  San  Francisco  during  the 
first  week  of  January,  1854,  that  a  certain  quagmire  in  the 
roadway  of  Long  Wharf  had  become  impassable,  and  a 
plank  was  thrown  over  its  dangerous  depth.  Indeed,  so 
treacherous  was  the  spot  that  it  was  alleged,  on  good  au- 
thority, that  a  hastily  embarking  traveler  had  once  hope- 
lessly lost  his  portmanteau,  and  was  fain  to  dispose  of  his 
entire  interest  in  it  for  the  sum  of  two  dollars  and  fifty 
cents  to  a  speculative  stranger  on  the  wharf.  As  the  stran- 
ger's search  was  rewarded  afterwards  only  by  the  discovery 
of  the  body  of  a  casual  Chinaman,  who  had  evidently  en- 
deavored wickedly  to  anticipate  him,  a  feeling  of  commer- 
cial insecurity  was  added  to  the  other  eccentricities  of  the 
locality. 

The  plank  led  to  the  door  of  a  building  that  was  a  mar- 
vel even  in  the  chaotic  frontier  architecture  of  the  street. 
The  houses  on  either  side  —  irregular  frames  of  wood  or 
corrugated  iron  —  bore  evidence  of  having  been  quickly 
thrown  together,  to  meet  the  requirements  of  the  goods  and 
passengers  who  were  once  disembarked  on  what  was  the 
muddy  beach  of  the  infant  city.  But  the  building  in  ques- 
tion exhibited  a  certain  elaboration  of  form  and  design  ut- 
terly inconsistent  with  this  idea.  The  structure  obtruded 
a  bowed  front  to  the  street,  with  a  curving  line  of  small 
windows,  surmounted  by  elaborate  carvings  and  scrollwork 
of  vines  and  leaves,  while  below,  in  faded  gilt  letters,  ap- 
peared the  legend  "Pontiac  —  Marseilles."  The  effect  of 


224  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

this  incongruity  was  startling.  It  is  related  that  an  inebri- 
ated miner,  impeded  by  mud  and  drink  before  its  door, 
was  found  gazing  at  its  remarkable  facade  with  an  expres- 
sion of  the  deepest  despondency.  "  I  hev  lived  a  free  life, 
pardner,"  he  explained  thickly  to  the  Samaritan  who  suc- 
cored him,  "and  every  time  since  I've  been  on  this  six 
weeks'  jamboree  might  have  kalkilated  it  would  come  to 
this.  Snakes  I  've  seen  afore  now,  and  rats  I  'm  not  un- 
familiar with,  but  when  it  comes  to  the  starn  of  a  ship  ris- 
in'  up  out  of  the  street,  I  reckon  it 's  time  to  pass  in  my 
checks. " 

"It  is  a  ship,  you  blasted  old  soaker,"  said  the  Samari- 
tan curtly. 

It  was  indeed  a  ship.  A  ship  run  ashore  and  abandoned 
on  the  beach  years  before  by  her  gold-seeking  crew,  with 
the  ddbris  of  her  scattered  stores  and  cargo,  overtaken  by 
the  wild  growth  of  the  strange  city  and  the  reclamation  of 
the  muddy  flat,  wherein  she  lay  hopelessly  imbedded;  her 
retreat  cut  off  by  wharves  and  quays  and  breakwater, 
jostled  at  first  by  sheds,  and  then  impacted  in  a  block  of 
solid  warehouses  and  dwellings,  her  rudder,  port,  and  coun- 
ter boarded  in,  and  now  gazing  hopelessly  through  her  cabin 
windows  upon  the  busy  street  before  her.  But  still  a  ship 
despite  her  transformation.  The  faintest  line  of  contour 
yet  left  visible  spoke  of  the  buoyancy  of  another  element; 
the  balustrade  of  her  roof  was  unmistakably  a  taffrail. 
The  rain  slipped  from  her  swelling  sides  with  a  certain 
lingering  touch  of  the  sea;  the  soil  around  her  was  still 
treacherous  with  its  suggestions,  and  even  the  wind  whis- 
tled nautically  over  her  chimney.  If,  in  the  fury  of  some 
southwesterly  gale,  she  had  one  night  slipped  her  strange 
moorings  and  left  a  shining  track  through  the  lower  town 
to  the  distant  sea,  no  one  would  have  been  surprised. 

Least  of  all,  perhaps,  her  present  owner  and  possessor, 
Mr.  Abner  Kott.  For  by  the  irony  of  circumstances,  Mr. 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  225 

Nott  was  a  Far  Western  farmer  who  had  never  seen  a  ship 
before,  nor  a  larger  stream  of  water  than  a  tributary  of  the 
Missouri  River.  In  a  spirit,  half  of  fascination,  half  of 
speculation,  he  had  bought  her  at  the  time  of  her  aban- 
donment, and  had  since  mortgaged  his  ranch  at  Petaluma 
with  his  live  stock,  to  defray  the  expenses  of  filling  in  the 
land  where  she  stood,  and  the  improvements  of  the  vicin- 
ity. He  had  transferred  his  household  goods  and  his  only 
daughter  to  her  cabin,  and  had  divided  the  space  "between 
decks  "  and  her  hold  into  lodging-rooms,  and  lofts  for  the 
storage  of  goods.  It  could  hardly  be  said  that  the  invest- 
ment had  been  profitable.  His  tenants  vaguely  recognized 
that  his  occupancy  was  a  sentimental  rather  than  a  commer- 
cial speculation,  and  often  generously  lent  themselves  to 
the  illusion  by  not  paying  their  rent.  Others  treated  their 
own  tenancy  as  a  joke,  — a  quaint  recreation  born  of  the 
childlike  familiarity  of  frontier  intercourse.  A  few  had 
left;  carelessly  abandoning  their  unsalable  goods  to  their 
landlord,  with  great  cheerfulness  and  a  sense  of  favor. 
Occasionally  Mr.  Abner  Nott,  in  a  practical  relapse,  raged 
against  the  derelicts,  and  talked  of  dispossessing  them,  or 
even  dismantling  his  tenement,  but  he  was  easily  placated 
by  a  compliment  to  the  "dear  old  ship,"  or  an  effort  made 
by  some  tenant  to  idealize  his  apartment.  A  photographer 
who  had  ingeniously  utilized  the  forecastle  for  a  gallery 
(accessible  from  the  bows  in  the  next  street)  paid  no  fur- 
ther tribute  than  a  portrait  of  the  pretty  face  of  Eosey 
Nott.  The  superstitious  reverence  in  which  Abner  Nott 
held  his  monstrous  fancy  was  naturally  enhanced  by  his 
purely  bucolic  exaggeration  of  its  real  functions  and  its  na- 
tive element.  "This  yer  keel  has  sailed  and  sailed  and 
sailed, "  he  would  explain,  with  some  incongruity  of  illustra- 
tion, "in  a  bee  line,  makin'  tracks  for  days  runnin'.  I 
reckon  more  storms  and  blizzards  hez  tackled  her  than  you 
ken  shake  a  stick  at.  She  's  stampeded  whales  afore  now, 


226  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

and  sloshed  round  with  pirates  and  freebooters  in  and  outer 
the  Spanish  Main,  and  across  lots  from  Marcelleys  where 
she  was  rared.  And  yer  she  sits  peaceful-like  just  ez  if 
she'd  never  been  outer  a  pertater  patch,  and  hadn't 
ploughed  the  sea  with  fo' sails  and  studdin'  sails  and  them 
things  cavortin'  round  her  masts." 

Abner  Nott's  enthusiasm  was  shared  by  his  daughter, 
but  with  more  imagination,  and  an  intelligence  stimulated 
by  the  scant  literature  of  her  father's  emigrant  wagon  and 
the  few  books  found  on  the  cabin  shelves.  But  to  her  the 
strange  shell  she  inhabited  suggested  more  of  the  great 
world  than  the  rude,  chaotic  civilization  she  saw  from  the 
cabin  windows  or  met  in  the  persons  of  her  father's  lodgers. 
Shut  up  for  days  in  this  quaint  tenement,  she  had  seen  it 
change  from  the  enchanted  playground  of  her  childish  fancy 
to  the  theatre  of  her  active  maidenhood,  but  without  losing 
her  ideal  romance  in  it.  She  had  translated  its  history  in 
her  own  way,  read  its  quaint  nautical  hieroglyphics  after 
her  own  fashion,  and  possessed  herself  of  its  secrets.  She 
had  in  fancy  made  voyages  in  it  to  foreign  lands,  had 
heard  the  accents  of  a  softer  tongue  on  its  decks,  and  on 
summer  nights,  from  the  roof  of  the  quarter-deck,  had  seen 
mellower  constellations  take  the  place  of  the  hard  metallic 
glitter  of  the  Californian  skies.  Sometimes,  in  her  isola- 
tion, the  long,  cylindrical  vault  she  inhabited  seemed,  like 
some  vast  seashell,  to  become  musical  with  the  murmur- 
ings  of  the  distant  sea.  So  completely  had  it  taken  the 
place  of  the  usual  instincts  of  feminine  youth  that  she  had 
forgotten  she  was  pretty,  or  that  her  dresses  were  old  in 
fashion  and  scant  in  quantity.  After  the  first  surprise  of 
admiration  her  father's  lodgers  ceased  to  follow  the  ab- 
stracted nymph  except  with  their  eyes,  —  partly  respecting 
her  spiritual  shyness,  partly  respecting  the  jealous  super- 
vision of  the  paternal  Nott.  She  seldom  penetrated  the 
crowded  centre  of  the  growing  city;  her  rare  excursions 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  227 

were  confined  to  the  old  ranch  at  Petaluma,  whence  she 
brought  flowers  and  plants,  and  even  extemporized  a  hang- 
ing-garden on  the  quarter-deck. 

It  was  still  raining,  and  the  wind,  which  had  increased 
to  a  gale,  was  dashing  the  drops  against  the  slanting  cabin 
windows  with  a  sound  like  spray  when  Mr.  Abner  Nott  sat 
before  a  table  seriously  engaged  with  his  accounts.  For  it 
was  "  steamer  night, "  —  as  that  momentous  day  of  reckon- 
ing before  the  sailing  of  the  regular  mail  steamer  was  briefly 
known  to  commercial  San  Francisco,  —  and  Mr.  Nott  was 
subject  at  such  times  to  severely  practical  relapses.  A 
swinging  light  seemed  to  bring  into  greater  relief  that 
peculiar  encased  casket-like  security  of  the  low-timbered, 
tightly  fitting  apartment,  with  its  toy-like  utilities  of  space, 
and  made  the  pretty  oval  face  of  Eosey  Nott  appear  a  char- 
acteristic ornament.  The  sliding  door  of  the  cabin  commu- 
nicated with  the  main  deck,  now  roofed  in  and  partitioned 
off  so  as  to  form  a  small  passage  that  led  to  the  open  star- 
board gangway,  where  a  narrow,  inclosed  staircase  built  on 
the  ship's  side  took  the  place  of  the  ship's  ladder  under 
her  counter,  and  opened  in  the  street. 

A  dash  of  rain  against  the  window  caused  Eosey  to  lift 
her  eyes  from  her  book. 

"It's  much  nicer  here  than  at  the  ranch,  father,"  she 
said  coaxingly,  "even  leaving  alone  its  being  a  beautiful 
ship  instead  of  a  shanty;  the  wind  don't  whistle  through 
the  cracks  and  blow  out  the  candle  when  you  're  reading, 
nor  the  rain  spoil  your  things  hung  up  against  the  wall. 
And  you  look  more  like  a  gentleman  sitting  in  his  own  — 
ship  —  you  know,  looking  over  his  bills  and  getting  ready 
to  give  his  orders." 

Vague  and  general  as  Miss  Eosey 's  compliment  was, 
it  had  its  full  effect  upon  her  father,  who  was  at  times 
dimly  conscious  of  his  hopeless  rusticity  and  its  incongru- 
ity with  his  surroundings.  "Yes,"  he  said  awkwardly, 


228  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

with  a  slight  relaxation  of  his  aggressive  attitude;  "yes, 
in  course  it 's  more  bang-up  style,  but  it  don't  pay  —  Rosey 
—  it  don't  pay.  Yer  's  the  Pontiac  that  oughter  be  bringin' 
in,  ez  rents  go,  at  least  three  hundred  a  month,  don't  make 
her  taxes.  I  bin  thinkin'  seriously  of  sellin'  her." 

As  Eosey  knew  her  father  had  experienced  this  serious 
contemplation  on  the  first  of  every  month  for  the  last  two 
years,  and  cheerfully  ignored  it  the  next  day,  she  only  said, 
"  I  'm  sure  the  vacant  rooms  and  lofts  are  all  rented,  father. " 

"That's  it,"  returned  Mr.  Nott  thoughtfully,  plucking 
at  his  bushy  whiskers  with  his  fingers  and  thumb  as  if  he 
were  removing  dead  and  sapless  incumbrances  in  their 
growth,  "that's  just  what  it  is  —  them 's  ez  in  it  them- 
selves don't  pay,  and  them  ez  haz  left  their  goods  —  the 
goods  don't  pay.  The  feller  ez  stored  them  iron  sugar 
kettles  in  the  forehold,  after  trying  to  get  me  to  make  an- 
other advance  on  'em,  sez  he  believes  he  '11  have  to  sacrifice 
'em  to  me  after  all,  and  only  begs  I  'd  give  him  a  chance 
of  buying  back  the  half  of  'em  ten  years  from  now,  at 
double  what  I  advanced  him.  The  chap  that  left  them 
five  hundred  eases  of  hair-dye  'tween  decks,  and  then 
skipped  out  to  Sacramento,  met  me  the  other  day  in  the 
street  and  advised  me  to  use  a  bottle  ez  an  advertisement, 
or  try  it  on  the  starn  of  the  Pontiac  for  fireproof  paint. 
That  foolishness  ez  all  he  's  good  for.  And  yet  thar  might 
be  suthin'  in  the  paint,  if  a  feller  had  nigger  luck.  Ther  's 
that  New  York  chap  ez  bought  up  them  damaged  boxes  of 
plug  terbakker  for  fifty  dollars  a  thousand,  and  sold  'em  for 
foundations  for  that  new  building  in  Sansome  Street  at  a 
thousand  clear  profit.  It's  all  luck,  Rosey." 

The  girl's  eyes  had  wandered  again  to  the  pages  of  her 
book.  Perhaps  she  was  already  familiar  with  the  text  of 
her  father's  monologue.  But  recognizing  an  additional 
querulousness  in  his  voice,  she  laid  the  book  aside  and  pa- 
tiently folded  her  hands  in  her  lap. 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  229 

"That 's  right  —  for  I  've  suthin'  to  tell  ye.  The  fact 
is  Sleight  wants  to  buy  the  Pontiac  out  and  out  just  ez  she 
stands  with  the  two  fifty  vara  lots  she  stands  on." 

"Sleight  wants  to  buy  her?  Sleight?"  echoed  Eosey 
incredulously. 

"You  bet!  Sleight  —  the  big  financier,  the  smartest 
man  in  'Frisco." 

"  What  does  he  want  to  buy  her  for  ?  "  asked  Eosey, 
knitting  her  pretty  brows. 

The  apparently  simple  question  suddenly  puzzled  Mr. 
Nott.  He  glanced  feebly  at  his  daughter's  face,  and 
frowned  in  vacant  irritation.  "That 's  so,"  he  said,  draw- 
ing a  long  breath;  "there  's  suthin'  in  that." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  "  continued  the  young  girl  impa- 
tiently. 

"Not  much.  'You've  got  the  Pontiac,  Nott,'  sez  he. 
'  You  bet ! '  sez  I.  '  What  '11  you  take  for  her  and  the  lot 
she  stands  on  ? '  sez  he,  short  and  sharp.  Some  fellers, 
Eosey,"  said  Nott,  with  a  cunning  smile,  "would  hev 
blurted  out  a  big  figger  and  been  cotched.  That  ain't  my 
style.  I  just  looked  at  him.  '  I  '11  wait  fur  your  figgers 
until  next  steamer  day,'  sez  he,  and  off  he  goes  like  a  shot. 
He  's  awfully  sharp,  Eosey." 

"But  if  he  is  sharp,  father,  and  he  really  wants  to  buy 
the  ship,"  returned  Eosey  thoughtfully,  "it's  only  be- 
cause he  knows  it 's  valuable  property,  and  not  because  he 
likes  it  as  we  do.  He  can't  take  that  value  away  even  if 
we  don't  sell  it  to  him,  and  all  the  while  we  have  the  com- 
fort of  the  dear  old  Pontiac,  don't  you  see  ? " 

This  exhaustive  commercial  reasoning  was  so  sympathetic 
to  Mr.  Nott's  instincts  that  he  accepted  it  as  conclusive. 
He,  however,  deemed  it  wise  to  still  preserve  his  practical 
attitude.  "But  that  don't  make  it  pay  by  the  month, 
Eosey.  Suthin'  must  be  done.  I  'm  thinking  I  '11  clean 
out  that  photographer." 


230  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

"Not  just  after  he's  taken  such  a  pretty  view  of  the 
cabin  front  of  the  Pontiac  from  the  street,  father !  No ! 
He  's  going  to  give  us  a  copy,  and  put  the  other  in  a  shop 
window  in  Montgomery  Street." 

"That's  so,"  said  Mr.  Nott  musingly;  "it's  no  slouch 
of  an  advertisement.  '  The  Pontiac, '  the  property  of  A. 
Nott,  Esq.,  of  St.  Jo,  Missouri.  Send  it  on  to  your  aunt 
Phoebe ;  sorter  make  the  old  folks  open  their  eyes  —  oh  ? 
Well,  seein'  he  's  been  to  some  expense  fittin'  up  an  en- 
trance from  the  other  street,  we  '11  let  him  slide.  But  as 
to  that  d — d  old  Frenchman  Ferrers,  in  the  next  loft,  with 
his  stuck-up  airs  and  highfalutin'  style,  we  must  get  quit 
of  him;  he's  regularly  gouged  me  in  that  ere  horsehair 
spekilation. " 

"How  can  you  say  that,  father!"  said  Eosey,  with  a 
slight  increase  of  color.  "It  was  your  own  offer.  You 
know  those  bales  of  curled  horsehair  were  left  behind  by 
the  late  tenant  to  pay  his  rent.  When  Mr.  De  Ferrieres 
rented  the  room  afterwards,  you  told  him  you  'd  throw 
them  in  in  the  place  of  repairs  and  furniture.  It  was  your 
own  offer." 

"  Yes,  but  I  did  n't  reckon  ther  'd  ever  be  a  big  price 
per  pound  paid  for  the  darned  stuff  for  sofys  and  cushions 
and  sich." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  knew  it,  father  ? "  responded 
Eosey. 

"Then  why  did  he  look  so  silly  at  first,  and  then  put 
on  airs  when  I  joked  him  about  it,  eh?  " 

"Perhaps  he  didn't  understand  your  joking,  father. 
He's  a  foreigner,  and  shy  and  proud,  and  —  not  like  the 
others.  I  don't  think  he  knew  what  you  meant  then,  any 
more  than  he  believed  he  was  making  a  bargain  before. 
He  may  be  poor,  but  I  think  he  's  been  —  a  —  a  —  gentle- 
man. " 

The  young  girl's  animation  penetrated  even  Mr.  Nott's 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  231 

slow  comprehension.  Her  novel  opposition,  and  even  the 
prettiness  it  enhanced,  gave  him  a  dull  premonition  of  pain. 
His  small  round  eyes  became  abstracted,  his  mouth  re- 
mained partly  open,  even  his  fresh  color  slightly  paled. 

"You  seem  to  have  been  takin'  stock  of  this  yer  man, 
Rosey,"  he  said,  with  a  faint  attempt  at  archness;  "if  he 
warn't  ez  old  ez  a  crow,  for  all  his  young  feathers,  I  'd 
think  he  was  makin'  up  to  you." 

But  the  passing  glow  had  faded  from  her  young  cheeks, 
and  her  eyes  wandered  again  to  her  book.  "He  pays  his 
rent  regularly  every  steamer  night,"  she  said  quietly,  as  if 
dismissing  an  exhausted  subject,  "and  he'll  be  here  in  a 
moment,  I  dare  say."  She  took  up  her  book,  and  leaning 
her  head  on  her  hand,  once  more  became  absorbed  in  its 


An  uneasy  silence  followed.  The  rain  beat  against  the 
windows,  the  ticking  of  a  clock  became  audible,  but  still 
Mr.  Nott  sat  with  vacant  eyes  fixed  on  his  daughter's  face, 
and  the  constrained  smile  on  his  lips.  He  was  conscious 
that  he  had  never  seen  her  look  so  pretty  before,  yet  he 
could  not  tell  why  this  was  no  longer  an  unalloyed  satis- 
faction. Not  but  that  he  had  always  accepted  the  admira- 
tion of  others  for  her  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  for  the  first 
time  he  became  conscious  that  she  not  only  had  an  interest 
in  others,  but  apparently  a  superior  knowledge  of  them. 
How  did  she  know  these  things  about  this  man,  and  why 
had  she  only  now  accidentally  spoken  of  them  ?  He  would 
have  done  so.  All  this  passed  so  vaguely  through  his 
unreflective  mind,  that  he  was  unable  to  retain  any  decided 
impression  but  the  far-reaching  one  that  his  lodger  had 
obtained  some  occult  influence  over  her  through  the  ex- 
hibition of  his  baleful  skill  in  the  horsehair  speculation. 
"Them  tricks  is  likely  to  take  a  young  girl's  fancy.  I 
must  look  arter  her,"  he  said  to  himself  softly. 

A  slow,  regular  step  in  the  gangway  interrupted  his  pater- 


232  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

nal  reflections.  Hastily  buttoning  across  Ms  chest  the  pea- 
jacket  which  he  usually  wore  at  home  as  a  single  conces- 
sion to  his  nautical  surroundings,  he  drew  himself  up  with 
something  of  the  assumption  of  a  shipmaster,  despite  cer- 
tain bucolic  suggestions  of  his  boots  and  legs.  The  foot- 
steps approached  nearer,  and  a  tall  figure  suddenly  stood  in 
the  doorway. 

It  was  a  figure  so  extraordinary  that  even  in  the  strange 
masquerade  of  that  early  civilization  it  was  remarkable;  a 
figure  with  whom  father  and  daughter  were  already  familiar 
without  abatement  of  wonder  —  the  figure  of  a  rejuvenated 
old  man,  padded,  powdered,  dyed,  and  painted  to  the 
verge  of  caricature,  but  without  a  single  suggestion  of  ludi- 
crousness  or  humor.  A  face  so  artificial  that  it  seemed  al- 
most a  mask,  but,  like  a  mask,  more  pathetic  than  amus- 
ing. He  was  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  fashion  of  a  dozen 
years  before;  his  pearl-gray  trousers  strapped  tightly  over 
his  varnished  boots,  his  voluminous  satin  cravat  and  high 
collar  embraced  his  rouged  cheeks  and  dyed  whiskers,  his 
closely  buttoned  frock  coat  clinging  to  a  waist  that  seemed 
accented  by  stays. 

He  advanced  two  steps  into  the  cabin  with  an  upright 
precision  of  motion  that  might  have  hid  the  infirmities  of 
age,  and  said  deliberately  with  a  foreign  accent :  — 

"  You-r-r  ac-coumpt? " 

In  the  actual  presence  of  the  apparition  Mr.  Nott's  dig- 
nified resistance  wavered.  But  glancing  uneasily  at  his 
daughter  and  seeing  her  calm  eyes  fixed  on  the  speaker 
without  embarrassment,  he  folded  his  arms  stiffly,  and 
with  a  lofty  simulation  of  examining  the  ceiling,  said :  — 

"Ahem!     Eosa!     The  gentleman's  account." 

It  was  an  infelicitous  action.  For  the  stranger,  who  evi- 
dently had  not  noticed  the  presence  of  the  young  girl  be- 
fore, started,  took  a  step  quickly  forward,  bent  stiffly  but 
profoundly  over  the  little  hand  that  held  the  account, 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  233 

raised  it  to  his  lips,  and  with  "a  thousand  pardons,  ma- 
demoiselle," laid  a  small  canvas  bag  containing  the  rent 
before  the  disorganized  Mr.  Nott  and  stiffly  vanished. 

The  night  was  a  troubled  one  to  the  simple-minded  pro- 
prietor of  the  good  ship  Pontiac.  Unable  to  voice  his 
uneasiness  by  further  discussion,  but  feeling  that  his  late 
discomposing  interview  with  his  lodger  demanded  some 
marked  protest,  he  absented  himself  on  the  plea  of  business 
during  the  rest  of  the  evening,  happily  to  his  daughter's 
utter  obliviousness  of  the  reason.  Lights  were  burning 
brilliantly  in  counting-rooms  and  offices,  the  feverish  life 
of  the  mercantile  city  was  at  its  height.  With  a  vague 
idea  of  entering  into  immediate  negotiations  with  Mr. 
Sleight  for  the  sale  of  the  ship,  as  a  direct  way  out  of  his 
present  perplexity,  he  bent  his  steps  towards  the  finan- 
cier's office,  but  paused  and  turned  back  before  reaching 
the  door.  He  made  his  way  to  the  wharf  and  gazed  ab- 
stractedly at  the  lights  reflected  in  the  dark,  tremulous, 
jelly-like  water.  But  wherever  he  went  he  was  accom- 
panied by  the  absurd  figure  of  his  lodger  —  a  figure  he  had 
hitherto  laughed  at  or  half  pitied,  but  which  now,  to  his 
bewildered  comprehension,  seemed  to  have  a  fateful  signifi- 
cance. Here  a  new  idea  seized  him,  and  he  hurried  back 
to  the  ship,  slackening  his  pace  only  when  he  arrived  at 
his  own  doorway.  Here  he  paused  a  moment  and  slowly 
ascended  the  staircase.  When  he  reached  the  passage  he 
coughed  slightly  and  paused  again.  Then  he  pushed  open 
the  door  of  the  darkened  cabin  and  called  softly :  — 

"  Rosey !  " 

"  What  is  it,  father  ? "  said  Eosey's  voice  from  the  little 
stateroom  on  the  right  —  Rosey's  own  bower. 

"  Nothing ! "  said  Mr.  Nott,  with  an  affectation  of  lan- 
guid calmness;  "I  only  wanted  to  know  if  you  was  com- 
fortable. It 's  an  awful  busy  night  in  town." 

"Yes,  father." 


232  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

nal  reflections.  Hastily  buttoning  across  his  chest  the  pea- 
jacket  which  he  usually  wore  at  home  as  a  single  conces- 
sion to  his  nautical  surroundings,  he  drew  himself  up  with 
something  of  the  assumption  of  a  shipmaster,  despite  cer- 
tain bucolic  suggestions  of  his  boots  and  legs.  The  foot- 
steps approached  nearer,  and  a  tall  figure  suddenly  stood  in 
the  doorway. 

It  was  a  figure  so  extraordinary  that  even  in  the  strange 
masquerade  of  that  early  civilization  it  was  remarkable;  a 
figure  with  whom  father  and  daughter  were  already  familiar 
without  abatement  of  wonder  —  the  figure  of  a  rejuvenated 
old  man,  padded,  powdered,  dyed,  and  painted  to  the 
verge  of  caricature,  but  without  a  single  suggestion  of  ludi- 
crousness  or  humor.  A  face  so  artificial  that  it  seemed  al- 
most a  mask,  but,  like  a  mask,  more  pathetic  than  amus- 
ing. He  was  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  fashion  of  a  dozen 
years  before;  his  pearl-gray  trousers  strapped  tightly  over 
his  varnished  boots,  his  voluminous  satin  cravat  and  high 
collar  embraced  his  rouged  cheeks  and  dyed  whiskers,  his 
closely  buttoned  frock  coat  clinging  to  a  waist  that  seemed 
accented  by  stays. 

He  advanced  two  steps  into  the  cabin  with  an  upright 
precision  of  motion  that  might  have  hid  the  infirmities  of 
age,  and  said  deliberately  with  a  foreign  accent :  — 

"  You-r-r  ac-coumpt? " 

In  the  actual  presence  of  the  apparition  Mr.  Nott's  dig- 
nified resistance  wavered.  But  glancing  uneasily  at  his 
daughter  and  seeing  her  calm  eyes  fixed  on  the  speaker 
without  embarrassment,  he  folded  his  arms  stiffly,  and 
with  a  lofty  simulation  of  examining  the  ceiling,  said :  — 

"Ahem!     Kosa!     The  gentleman's  account." 

It  was  an  infelicitous  action.  For  the  stranger,  who  evi- 
dently had  not  noticed  the  presence  of  the  young  girl  be- 
fore, started,  took  a  step  quickly  forward,  bent  stiffly  but 
profoundly  over  the  little  hand  that  held  the  account, 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  233 

raised  it  to  his  lips,  and  with  "a  thousand  pardons,  ma- 
demoiselle," laid  a  small  canvas  bag  containing  the  rent 
before  the  disorganized  Mr.  Nott  and  stiffly  vanished. 

The  night  was  a  troubled  one  to  the  simple-minded  pro- 
prietor of  the  good  ship  Pontiac.  Unable  to  voice  his 
uneasiness  by  further  discussion,  but  feeling  that  his  late 
discomposing  interview  with  his  lodger  demanded  some 
marked  protest,  he  absented  himself  on  the  plea  of  business 
during  the  rest  of  the  evening,  happily  to  his  daughter's 
utter  obliviousness  of  the  reason.  Lights  were  burning 
brilliantly  in  counting-rooms  and  offices,  the  feverish  life 
of  the  mercantile  city  was  at  its  height.  With  a  vague 
idea  of  entering  into  immediate  negotiations  with  Mr. 
Sleight  for  the  sale  of  the  ship,  as  a  direct  way  out  of  his 
present  perplexity,  he  bent  his  steps  towards  the  finan- 
cier's office,  but  paused  and  turned  back  before  reaching 
the  door.  He  made  his  way  to  the  wharf  and  gazed  ab- 
stractedly at  the  lights  reflected  in  the  dark,  tremulous, 
jelly-like  water.  But  wherever  he  went  he  was  accom- 
panied by  the  absurd  figure  of  his  lodger  —  a  figure  he  had 
hitherto  laughed  at  or  half  pitied,  but  which  now,  to  his 
bewildered  comprehension,  seemed  to  have  a  fateful  signifi- 
cance. Here  a  new  idea  seized  him,  and  he  hurried  back 
to  the  ship,  slackening  his  pace  only  when  he  arrived  at 
his  own  doorway.  Here  he  paused  a  moment  and  slowly 
ascended  the  staircase.  When  he  reached  the  passage  he 
coughed  slightly  and  paused  again.  Then  he  pushed  open 
the  door  of  the  darkened  cabin  and  called  softly :  — 

"  Eosey ! " 

"What  is  it,  father? "  said  Eosey 's  voice  from  the  little 
stateroom  on  the  right  —  Eosey 's  own  bower. 

"Nothing!"  said  Mr.  Nott,  with  an  affectation  of  lan- 
guid calmness;  "I  only  wanted  to  know  if  you  was  com- 
fortable. It 's  an  awful  busy  night  in  town." 

"Yes,  father." 


236  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

believed,  introduced  into  the  Pontiac  a  counteracting  in- 
fluence to  the  subtle  fascinations  of  De  Ferrieres. 

The  new  tenant  apparently  possessed  a  combination  of 
business  shrewdness  and  brusque  frankness  that  strongly 
impressed  his  landlord.  "You  see,  Eosey,"  said  Nott, 
complacently  describing  the  interview  to  his  daughter, 
"when  I  sorter  intimated  in  a  keerless  kind  o'  Avay  that 
sugar  kettles  and  hair-dye  was  about  played  out  ez  securi- 
ties, he  just  planked  down  the  money  for  two  months  in 
advance.  '  There, '  sez  he,  '  that 's  your  security  —  now 
where  's  mine  ?'  'I  reckon  I  don't  hitch  on,  pardner, ' 
sez  I;  '  security  what  for1?  '  '  'Spose  you  sell  the  ship?  ' 
sez  he,  '  afore  the  two  months  is  up.  I  've  heard  that  old 
Sleight  wants  to  buy  her.'  'Then  you  gets  back  your 
money, '  sez  I.  '  And  lose  my  room, '  sez  he ;  '  not  much, 
old  man.  You  sign  a  paper  that  whoever  buys  the  ship 
inside  o'  two  months  hez  to  buy  me  ez  a  tenant  with  it; 
that 's  on  the  square. '  So  I  sign  the  paper.  It  was 
mighty  cute  in  the  young  feller,  wasn't  it? "  he  said,  scan- 
ning his  daughter's  pretty  puzzled  face  a  little  anxiously; 
"and  don't  you  see,  ez  I  ain't  goin'  to  sell  the  Pontiac, 
it 's  just  about  ez  cute  in  me,  eh  ?  He  's  a  contractor  some- 
where around  yer,  and  wants  to  be  near  his  work.  So  he 
takes  the  room  next  to  the  Frenchman,  that  that  ship  cap- 
tain quit  for  the  mines,  and  succeeds  naterally  to  his  chest 
and  things.  He  's  mighty  peart  looking,  that  young  fel- 
ler, Eosey —  long  black  mustaches,  all  his  own  color, 
Eosey  —  and  he 's  a  regular  high-stepper,  you  bet.  I 
reckon  he 's  not  only  been  a  gentleman,  but  ez  now. 
Some  o'  them  contractors  are  very  high-toned !  " 

"I  don't  think  we  have  any  right  to  give  him  the  cap- 
tain's chest,  father,"  said  Eosey;  "there  may  be  some  pri- 
vate things  in'  it.  There  were  some  letters  and  photographs 
in  the  hair-dye  man's  trunk  that  you  gave  the  photo- 
grapher. " 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  237 

"That's  just  it,  Eosey,"  returned  Abner  Nott  with 
sublime  unconsciousness,  "  photographs  and  love-letters  you 
can't  sell  for  cash,  and  I  don't  mind  givin'  'em  away,  if 
they  kin  make  a  feller  creature  happy." 

"But,  father,  have  we  the  right  to  give  'em  away?" 

"They're  collateral  security,  Eosey, "  said  her  father 
grimly.  "Co-la-te-ral,"  he  continued,  emphasizing  each 
syllable  by  tapping  the  fist  of  one  hand  in  the  open  palm 
of  the  other.  "  Co-la-te-ral  is  the  word  the  big  business 
sharps  yer  about  call  'em.  You  can't  get  round  that." 
He  paused  a  moment,  and  then,  as  a  new  idea  seemed  to 
be  painfully  borne  in  his  round  eyes,  continued  cau- 
tioiisly:  "Was  that  the  reason  why  you  would  n't  touch 
any  of  them  dresses  from  the  trunks  of  that  opery  gal  ez 
skedaddled  for  Sacramento  ?  And  yet  them  trunks  I  regu- 
larly bought  at  auction  —  Rosey  —  at  auction,  on  spec  — 
and  they  didn't  realize  the  cost  of  drayage." 

A  slight  color  mounted  to  Eosey 's  face.  "No,"  she 
said  hastily,  "not  that."  Hesitating  a  moment,  she  then 
drew  softly  to  his  side,  and  placing  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  turned  his  broad  foolish  face  towards  her  own. 
"Father,"  she  began,  "when  mother , died,  would  you  have 
liked  anybody  to  take  her  trunks  and  paw  round  her  things 
and  wear  them  1  " 

"When  your  mother  died,  just  this  side  o'  Sweetwater, 
Eosey,"  said  Mr.  Nbtt,  with  beaming  unconsciousness, 
"she  had  n't  any  trunks.  I  reckon  she  hadn't  even  an 
extra  gown  hanging  up  in  the  wagin,  'cept  the  petticoat 
ez  she  had  wrapped  around  yer.  It  was  about  ez  much  ez 
we  could  do  to  skirmish  round  with  Injins,  alkali,  and 
cold,  and  we  sorter  forgot  to  dress  for  dinner.  She  never 
thought,  Eosey,  that  you  and  me  would  live  to  be  inhab- 
itin'  a  paliss  of  a  real  ship.  Ef  she  had  she  would  have 
died  a  proud  woman." 

He  turned  his  small,  loving,  boar-like  eyes  upon  her  as 


238  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

a  preternaturally  innocent  and  trusting  companion  of  Ulys- 
ses might  have  regarded  the  transforming  Circe.  Eosey 
turned  away  with  the  faintest  sigh.  The  habitual  look  of 
abstraction  returned  to  her  eyes  as  if  she  had  once  more 
taken  refuge  in  her  own  ideal  world.  Unfortunately  the 
change  did  not  escape  either  the  sensitive  observation  or 
the  fatuous  misconception  of  the  sagacious  parent.  "  Ye  '11 
be  mountin'  a  few  furbelows  and  fixin's,  Eosey,  I  reckon, 
ez  only  natural.  Mebbe  ye  '11  have  to  prink  up  a  little 
now  that  we  've  got  a  gentleman  contractor  in  the  ship. 
I  '11  see  what  I  kin  pick  up  in  Montgomery  Street."  And 
indeed  he  succeeded  a  few  hours  later  in  accomplishing 
with  equal  infelicity  his  generous  design.  When  she  re- 
turned from  her  household  tasks  she  found  on  her  berth  a 
purple  velvet  bonnet  of  extraordinary  make  and  a  pair  of 
white  satin  slippers.  "They  '11  do  for  a  start-off,  Eosey," 
he  explained,  "and  I  got  'em  at  my  figgers." 

"But  I  go  out  so  seldom,  father;  and  a  bonnet"  — 
"That's  so,"  interrupted  Mr.  Nott  complacently,  "it 
might  be  jest  ez  well  for  a  young  gal  like  yer  to  appear 
ez  if  she  did  go  out,  or  would  go  out  if  she  wanted  to.  So 
you  kin  be  wearin'  that  ar  headstall  kinder  like  this  even- 
ing when  the  contractor  's  here,  ez  if  you  'd  jest  come  in 
from  apasear." 

Miss  Eosey  did  not,  however,  immediately  avail  herself  of 
her  father's  purchase,  but  contented  herself  with  the  usual 
scarlet  ribbon  that  like  a  snood  confined  her  brown  hair 
when  she  returned  to  her  tasks.  The  space  between  the 
galley  and  the  bulwarks  had  been  her  favorite  resort  in 
summer  when  not  actually  engaged  in  household  work.  It 
was  now  lightly  roofed  over  with  boards  and  tarpaulin 
against  the  winter  rain,  but  still  afforded  her  a  veranda- 
like  space  before  the  galley  door,  where  she  could  read  or 
sew,  looking  over  the  bow  of  the  Pontiac  to  the  tossing 
bay  or  the  farther  range  of  the  Contra  Costa  hills. 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  239 

Hither  Miss  Rosey  brought  the  purple  prodigy,  partly 
to  please  her  father,  partly  with  a  view  of  subjecting  it  to 
violent  radical  changes.  But  after  trying  it  on  before  the 
tiny  mirror  in  the  galley  once  or  twice,  her  thoughts  wan- 
dered away,  and  she  fell  into  one  of  her  habitual  reveries 
seated  on  a  little  stool  before  the  galley  door. 

She  was  aroused  from  it  by  the  slight  shaking  and  rat- 
tling of  the  doors  of  a  small  hatch  on  the  deck  not  a  dozen 
yards  from  where  she  sat.  It  had  been  evidently  fastened 
from  below  during  the  wet  weather;  but  as  she  gazed  the 
fastenings  were  removed,  the  doors  were  suddenly  lifted, 
and  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  young  man  emerged  from 
the  deck.  Partly  from  her  father's  description,  and  partly 
from  the  impossibility  of  its  being  anybody  else,  she  at 
once  conceived  it  to  be  the  new  lodger.  She  had  time  to 
note  that  he  was  young  and  good  looking,  graver,  perhaps, 
than  became  his  sudden  pantomimic  appearance;  but  before 
she  could  observe  him  closely,  he  had  turned,  closed  the 
hatch  with  a  certain  familiar  dexterity,  and  walked  slowly 
towards  the  bows.  Even  in  her  slight  bewilderment  she 
observed  that  his  step  upon  the  deck  seemed  different  to 
her  father's  or  the  photographer's,  and  that  he  laid  his 
hand  on  various  objects  with  a  half-caressing  ease  and 
habit.  Presently  he  paused  and  turned  back,  and  glancing 
at  the  galley  door  for  the  first  time  encountered  her  won- 
dering eyes. 

It  seemed  so  evident  that  she  had  been  a  curious  specta- 
tor of  his  abrupt  entrance  on  deck  that  he  was  at  first  dis- 
concerted and  confused.  But  after  a  second  glance  at  her 
he  appeared  to  resume  his  composure,  and  advanced  a  little 
defiantly  towards  the  galley. 

"  I  suppose  I  frightened  you,  popping  up  the  fore  hatch 
just  now  ?  " 

"  The  what  1  "  asked  Rosey. 

"The  fore  hatch,"  he  repeated  impatiently,  indicating  it 
with  a  gesture. 


240  A   SHIP   OF   '49 

"  And  that 's  the  fore  hatch  ?  "  she  said  abstractedly. 
"You  seem  to  know  ships." 

"Yes  —  a  little,"  he  said  quietly.  "I  was  below,  and 
unfastened  the  hatch  to  come  up  the  quickest  way  and 
take  a  look  round.  I've  just  hired  a  room  here,"  he 
added  explanatorily. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Rosey  simply;  "you're  the  con- 
tractor 1 " 

"The  contractor!  —  oh  yes!    You  seem  to  know  it  all." 

"Father's  told  me." 

"Oh,  he's  your  father  —  Nott?  Certainly.  I  see  now," 
he  continued,  looking  at  her  with  a  half-repressed  smile. 
"Certainly  Miss  Nott,  good-morning,"  he  half  added  and 
walked  towards  the  companionway.  Something  in  the 
direction  of  his  eyes  as  he  turned  away  made  Eosey  lift 
her  hands  to  her  head.  She  had  forgotten  to  remove  her 
father's  baleful  gift. 

She  snatched  it  off  and  ran  quickly  to  the  companion- 
way. 

"Sir!"  she  called. 

The  young  man  turned  halfway  down  the  steps  and 
looked  up.  There  was  a  faint  color  in  her  cheeks,  and  her 
pretty  brown  hair  was  slightly  disheveled  from  the  hasty 
removal  of  the  bonnet. 

"Father  's  very  particular  about  strangers  being  on  this 
deck,"  she  said  a  little  sharply. 

"Oh  —  ah  —  I  'm  sorry  I  intruded." 

"I  —  I  —  thought  I  'd  tell  you,"  said  Rosey,  frightened 
by  her  boldness  into  a  feeble  anticlimax. 

"Thank  you." 

She  came  back  slowly  to  the  galley  and  picked  up  the 
unfortunate  bonnet  with  a  slight  sense  of  remorse.  Why 
should  she  feel  angry  with  her  poor  father's  unhappy  offer- 
ing? And  what  business  had  this  strange  young  man  to 
use  the  ship  so  familiarly  1  Yet  she  was  vaguely  conscious 


A   SHIP  OF  '49  241 

that  she  and  her  father,  with  all  their  love  and  their  do- 
mestic experience  of  it,  lacked  a  certain  instinctive  ease  in 
its  possession  that  the  half-indifferent  stranger  had  shown 
on  first  treading  its  deck.  She  walked  to  the  hatchway 
and  examined  it  with  a  new  interest.  Succeeding  in  lift- 
ing the  hatch,  she  gazed  at  the  lower  deck.  As  she  already 
knew  the  ladder  had  long  since  been  removed  to  make  room 
for  one  of  the  partitions,  the  only  way  the  stranger  could 
have  reached  it  was  by  leaping  to  one  of  the  rings.  To 
make  sure  of  this,  she  let  herself  down  holding  on  to  the 
rings,  and  dropped  a  couple  of  feet  to  the  deck  below. 
She  was  in  the  narrow  passage  her  father  had  penetrated 
the  previous  night.  Before  her  was  the  door  leading  to 
De  Ferrieres'  loft,  always  locked.  It  was  silent  within; 
it  was  the  hour  when  the  old  Frenchman  made  his  habitual 
promenade  in  the  city.  But  the  light  from  the  newly 
opened  hatch  allowed  her  to  see  more  of  the  mysterious 
recesses  of  the  forward  bulkhead  than  she  had  known  be- 
fore, and  she  was  startled  by  observing  another  yawning 
hatchway  at  her  feet,  from  which  the  closely  fitting  door 
had  been  lifted,  and  which  the  new  lodger  had  evidently 
forgotten  to  close  again.  The  young  girl  stooped  down 
and  peered  cautiously  into  the  black  abyss.  Nothing  was 
to  be  seen,  nothing  heard  but  the  distant  gurgle  and  click 
of  water  in  some  remoter  depth.  She  replaced  the  hatch 
and  returned  by  way  of  the  passage  to  the  cabin. 

When  her  father  came  home  that  night  she  briefly  re- 
counted the  interview  with  the  new  lodger,  and  her  discov- 
ery of  his  curiosity.  She  did  this  with  a  possible  increase 
of  her  usual  shyness  and  abstraction,  and  apparently  more 
as  a  duty  than  a  colloquial  recreation.  But  it  pleased  Mr. 
Nott  also  to  give  it  more  than  his  usual  misconception. 
"  Looking  round  the  ship,  was  he  —  eh,  Kosey  ?  "  he  said, 
with  infinite  archness.  "In  course,  kinder  sweepin' 
round  the  galley,  and  offerin'  to  fetch  you  wood  and  water, 


242  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

eh  ?  "  Even  when  the  young  girl  had  picked  up  her  book, 
with  the  usual  faint  smile  of  affectionate  tolerance,  and 
then  drifted  away  in  its  pages,  Mr.  Nott  chuckled  audibly. 
"I  reckon  old  Frenchy  didn't  come  by  when  the  young 
one  was  bedevlin'  you  there." 

"  What,  father  ?  "  said  Eosey,  lifting  her  abstracted  eyes 
to  his  face. 

At  the  moment  it  seemed  impossible  that  any  human 
intelligence  could  have  suspected  deceit  or  duplicity  in 
Eosey's  clear  gaze.  But  Mr.  Nott's  intelligence  was  super- 
human. "I  was  sayin'  that  Mr.  Ferrieres  didn't  happen 
in  while  the  young  feller  was  there  —  eh  1 " 

"No,  father,"  answered  Eosey,  with  an  effort  to  follow 
him  out  of  the  pages  of  her  book.  "  Why  ?  " 

But  Mr.  Nott  did  not  reply.  Later  in  the  evening  he 
awkwardly  waylaid  the  new  lodger  before  the  cabin  door  as 
that  gentleman  would  have  passed  on  to  his  room. 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  the  young  man,  glancing  at  Eosey, 
"that  I  intruded  upon  your  daughter  to-day.  I  was  a  lit- 
tle curious  to  see  the  old  ship,  and  I  did  n't  know  what 
part  of  it  was  private. " 

"There  ain't  no  private  part  to  this  yer  ship  —  that  ez 
'cepting  the  rooms  and  lofts,"  said  Mr.  Nott  authorita- 
tively. Then  subjecting  the  anxious  look  of  his  daughter 
to  his  usual  faculty  for  misconception,  he  added:  "Thar 
ain't  no  place  whar  you  have  n't  as  much  right  to  go  ez  any 
other  man;  thar  ain't  any  man,  furriner  or  Amerykan, 
young  or  old,  dyed  or  undyed,  ez  hev  got  any  better 
rights.  You  hear  me,  young  fellow.  Mr.  Eenshaw  — 
my  darter.  My  darter  —  Mr.  Eenshaw.  Eosey,  give  the 
gentleman  a  chair.  She  's  only  jest  come  in  from  a  prom- 
eynade,  and  hez  jest  taken  off  her  bonnet,"  he  added,  with 
an  arch  look  at  Eosey  and  a  hurried  look  around  the  cabin, 
as  if  he  hoped  to  see  the  missing  gift  visible  to  the  general 
eye.  "So  take  a  seat  a  minit,  won't  ye?  " 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  243 

But  Mr.  Kenshaw,  after  an  observant  glance  at  the 
young  girl's  abstracted  face,  brusquely  excused  himself. 
"I've  got  a  letter  to  write,"  he  said,  with  a  half  bow  to 
Eosey.  "  Good-night. " 

He  crossed  the  passage  to  the  room  that  had  been  as- 
signed to  him,  and  closing  the  door  gave  way  to  some  irri- 
tability of  temper  in  his  efforts  to  light  the  lamp  and  ad- 
just his  writing  materials;  for  his  excuse  to  Mr.  Nott 
was  more  truthful  than  most  polite  pretexts.  He  had, 
indeed,  a  letter  to  write,  and  one  that,  being  yet  young  in 
duplicity,  the  near  presence  of  his  host  rendered  difficult. 
For  it  ran  as  follows :  — 

DEAR  SLEIGHT,  — As  I  found  I  couldn't  get  a  chance 
to  make  any  examination  of  the  ship  except  as  occasion 
offered,  I  just  went  in  to  rent  lodgings  in  her  from  the 
God-forsaken  old  ass  who  owns  her,  and  here  I  am  a 
tenant  for  two  months.  I  contracted  for  that  time  in  case 
the  old  fool  should  sell  out  to  some  one  else  before.  Ex- 
cept that  she  's  cut  up  a  little  between  decks  by  the  parti- 
tions for  lofts  that  that  Pike  County  idiot  has  put  into  her, 
she  looks  but  little  changed,  and  her  forehold,  as  far  as 
I  can  judge,  is  intact.  It  seems  that  Nott  bought  her  just 
as  she  stands,  with  her  cargo  half  out,  but  he  was  n't  here 
when  she  broke  cargo.  If  anybody  else  had  bought  her 
but  this  cursed  Missourian,  who  has  n't  got  the  hayseed 
out  of  his  hair,  I  might  have  found  out  something  from 
him,  and  saved  myself  this  kind  of  fooling,  which  is  n't  in 
my  line.  If  I  could  get  possession  of  a  loft  on  the  main 
deck,  well  forward,  just  over  the  forehold,  I  could  satisfy 
myself  in  a  few  hours;  but  the  loft  is  rented  by  that  crazy 
Frenchman  who  parades  Montgomery  Street  every  after- 
noon, and  though  old  Pike  County  wants  to  turn  him  out, 
I  'm  afraid  I  can't  get  it  for  a  week  to  come. 

If  anything  should  happen  to  me,  just  you  waltz  down 


244  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

here  and  corral  my  things  at  once,   for    this  old  frontier 
pirate  has  a  way  of  confiscating  his  lodgers'  trunks. 

Yours,  DICK. 

Ill 

If  Mr.  Renshaw  indulged  in  any  further  curiosity  re- 
garding the  interior  of  the  Pontiac,  he  did  not  make  his 
active  researches  manifest  to  Rosey.  Nor,  in  spite  of  her 
father's  invitation,  did  he  again  approach  the  galley — a 
fact  which  gave  her  her  first  vague  impression  in  his  favor. 
He  seemed  also  to  avoid  the  various  advances  which  Mr. 
Nott  appeared  impelled  to  make,  whenever  they  met  in  the 
passage,  but  did  so  without  seemingly  avoiding  her,  and 
marked  his  half-contemptuous  indifference  to  the  elder 
Nott  by  an  increase  of  respect  to  the  young  girl.  She 
would  have  liked  to  ask  him  something  about  ships,  and 
was  sure  his  conversation  would  have  been  more  interesting 
than  that  of  old  Captain  Bower,  to  whose  cabin  he  had 
succeeded,  who  had  once  told  her  a  ship  was  the  "devil's 
hencoop."  She  would  have  liked  also  to  explain  to  him 
that  she  was  not  in  the  habit  of  wearing  a  purple  bonnet. 
But  her  thoughts  were  presently  engrossed  by  an  experi- 
ence which  interrupted  the  even  tenor  of  her  young  life. 

She  had  been,  as  she  afterwards  remembered,  impressed 
with  a  nervous  restlessness  one  afternoon  which  made  it 
impossible  for  her  to  perform  her  ordinary  household  du- 
ties, or  even  to  indulge  her  favorite  recreation  of  reading  or 
castle-building.  She  wandered  over  the  ship,  and  im- 
pelled by  the  same  vague  feeling  of  unrest,  descended  to 
the  lower  deck  and  the  forward  bulkhead,  where  she  had 
discovered  the  open  hatch.  It  had  not  been  again  dis- 
turbed, nor  was  there  any  trace  of  further  exploration.  A 
Kttle  ashamed,  she  knew  not  why,  of  revisiting  the  scene 
of  Mr.  Kenshaw's  researches,  she  was  turning  back  when 
she  noticed  that  the  door  which  communicated  with  De 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  245 

Ferrieres'  loft  was  partly  open.  The  circumstance  was  so 
unusual  that  she  stopped  before  it  in  surprise.  There  was 
no  sound  from  within;  it  was  the  hour  when  its  queer  oc- 
cupant was  always  absent;  he  must  have  forgotten  to  lock 
the  door,  or  it  had  been  unfastened  by  other  hands.  After 
a  moment  of  hesitation  she  pushed  it  farther  open  and 
stepped  into  the  room. 

By  the  dim  light  of  two  port-holes  she  could  see  that  the 
floor  was  strewn  and  piled  with  the  contents  of  a  broken 
bale  of  curled  horsehair,  of  which  a  few  untouched  bales 
still  remained  against  the  wall.  A  heap  of  morocco  skins, 
some  already  cut  in  the  form  of  chair-cushion  covers,  and 
a  few  cushions  unfinished  and  unstuffed,  lay  in  the  light 
of  the  ports,  and  gave  the  apartment  the  appearance  of  a 
cheap  workshop.  A  rude  instrument  for  combining  the 
horsehair,  awls,  buttons,  and  thread,  heaped  on  a  small 
bench,  showed  that  active  work  had  been  but  recently 
interrupted.  A  cheap  earthenware  ewer  and  basin  on  the 
floor,  and  a  pallet  made  of  an  open  bale  of  horsehair,  on 
which  a  ragged  quilt  and  blanket  were  flung,  indicated  that 
the  solitary  worker  dwelt  and  slept  beside  his  work. 

The  truth  flashed  upon  the  young  girl's  active  brain, 
quickened  by  seclusion  and  fed  by  solitary  books.  She 
read  with  keen  eyes  the  miserable  secret  of  her  father's 
strange  guest  in  the  poverty-stricken  walls,  in  the  mute 
evidences  of  menial  handicraft  performed  in  loneliness 
and  privation,  in  this  piteous  adaptation  of  an  accident  to 
save  the  conscious  shame  of  premeditated  toil.  She  knew 
now  why  he  had  stammeringly  refused  to  receive  her  fa- 
ther's offer  to  buy  back  the  goods  he  had  given  him;  she 
knew  now  how  hardly  gained  was  the  pittance  that  paid 
his  rent  and  supported  his  childish  vanity  and  grotesque 
pride.  From  a  peg  in  the  corner  hung  the  familiar  mas- 
querade that  hid  his  poverty  —  the  pearl-gray  trousers, 
the  black  frock  coat,  the  tall  shining  hat  —  in  hideous  con- 


246  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

trast  to  the  penury  of  his  surroundings.  But  if  they  were 
here,  where  was  he,  and  in  what  new  disguise  had  he  es- 
caped from  his  poverty  ?  A  vague  uneasiness  caused  her 
to  hesitate  and  return  to  the  open  door.  She  had  nearly 
reached  it  when  her  eye  fell  on  the  pallet  which  it  partly 
illuminated.  A  singular  resemblance  in  the  ragged  heap 
made  her  draw  closer.  The  faded  quilt  was  a  dressing- 
gown,  and  clutching  its  folds  lay  a  white,  wasted  hand. 

The  emigrant  childhood  of  Rose  Nott  had  been  more 
than  once  shadowed  by  scalping-knives,  and  she  was  ac- 
quainted with  Death.  She  went  fearlessly  to  the  couch, 
and  found  that  the  dressing-gown  was  only  an  enwrapping 
of  the  emaciated  and  lifeless  body  of  De  Ferrieres.  She 
did  not  retreat  or  call  for  help,  but  examined  him  closely. 
He  was  unconscious,  but  not  pulseless;  he  had  evidently 
been  strong  enough  to  open  the  door  for  air  or  succor,  but 
had  afterwards  fallen  into  a  fit  on  the  couch.  She  flew  to 
her  father's  locker  and  the  galley  fire,  returned  and  shut 
the  door  behind  her,  and  by  the  skillful  use,  of  hot  water 
and  whiskey  soon  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  a  faint  color 
take  the  place  of  the  faded  rouge  in  the  ghastly  cheeks. 
She  was  still  chafing  his  hands  when  he  slowly  opened  his 
eyes.  With  a  start,  he  made  a  quick  attempt  to  push 
aside  her  hand  and  rise.  But  she  gently  restrained  him. 

"  Eh  —  what !  "  he  stammered,  throwing  his  face  back 
from  hers  with  an  effort  and  trying  to  turn  it  to  the  wall. 

"You  have  been  ill,"  she  said  quietly.      "Drink  this." 

With  his  face  still  turned  away  he  lifted  the  cup  to  his 
chattering  teeth.  When  he  had  drained  it  he  threw  a 
trembling  glance  round  the  room  and  at  the  door. 

"There's  no  one  been  here  but  myself,"  she  said 
quickly.  "I  happened  to  see  the  door  open  as  I  passed. 
I  didn't  think  it  worth  while  to  call  any  one." 

The  searching  look  he  gave  her  turned  into  an  expres- 
sion of  relief,  which,  to  her  infinite  uneasiness,  again  feebly 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  247 

lightened  into  one  of  antiquated  gallantry.  He  drew  the 
dressing-gown  around  him  with  an  air. 

"Ah!  it  is  a  goddess,  mademoiselle,  that  has  deigned 
to  enter  the  cell  where  —  where  —  I  amuse  myself.  It  is 
droll,  is  it  not  ?  I  came  here  to  make  —  what  you  call  — 
the  experiment  of  your  father's  fabric.  I  make  myself  — 
ha !  ha !  —  like  a  workman.  Ah,  hah !  the  heat,  the  dark- 
ness, the  plebeian  motion  make  my  head  to  go  round.  I 
stagger,  I  faint,  I  cry  out,  I  fall.  But  what  of  that  ?  The 
great  God  hears  my  cry  and  sends  me  an  angel.  Voila  !  " 

He  attempted  an  easy  gesture  of  gallantry,  but  overbal- 
anced himself  and  fell  sideways  on  the  pallet  with  a  gasp. 
Yet  there  was  so  much  genuine  feeling  mixed  with  his  gro- 
tesque affectation,  so  much  piteous  consciousness  of  the  inef- 
fectiveness of  his  falsehood,  that  the  young  girl,  who  had 
turned  away,  came  back  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  You  must  lie  still  and  try  to  sleep, "  she  said  gently. 
"I  will  return  again.  Perhaps,"  she  added,  "there  is 
some  one  I  can  send  for  ? " 

He  shook  his  head  violently.  Then  in  his  old  manner 
added,  "After  mademoiselle  —  no  one." 

"I  mean"  —  she  hesitated;  "have  you  no  friends?" 

"  Friends,  —  ah !  without  doubt. "  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "  But  mademoiselle  will  comprehend  "  — 

"You  are  better  now,"  said  Eosey  quickly,  "and  no  one 
need  know  anything  if  you  don't  wish  it.  Try  to  sleep. 
You  need  not  lock  the  door  when  I  go;  I  will  see  that  no 
one  comes  in." 

He  flushed  faintly  and  averted  his  eyes.  "It  is  too 
droll,  mademoiselle,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"Of  course  it  is,"  said  Eosey,  glancing  round  the  miser- 
able room. 

"And  mademoiselle  is  an  angel." 

He  carried  her  hand  to  his  lips  humbly  —  his  first 
purely  unaffected  action.  She  slipped  through  the  door, 
and  softly  closed  it  behind  her. 


248  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

Beaching  the  upper  deck  she  was  relieved  to  find  her 
father  had  riot  returned,  and  her  absence  had  been  unno- 
ticed. For  she  had  resolved  to  keep  De  Ferrieres'  secret 
to  herself  from  the  moment  that  she  had  unwittingly  dis- 
covered it,  and  to  do  this  and  still  be  able  to  watch  over 
him  without  her  father's  knowledge  required  some  caution. 
She  was  conscious  of  his  strange  aversion  to  the  unfortu- 
nate man  without  understanding  the  reason ;  but  as  she  was 
in  the  habit  of  entertaining  his  caprices  more  from  affec- 
tionate tolerance  of  his  weakness  than  reverence  of  his 
judgment,  she  saw  no  disloyalty  to  him  in  withholding  a 
confidence  that  might  be  disloyal  to  another.  "It  won't 
do  father  any  good  to  know  it,"  she  said  to  herself,  "and 
if  it  did  it  oughtn't  to,"  she  added,  with  triumphant  femi- 
nine logic.  But  the  impression  made  upon  her  by  the 
spectacle  she  had  just  witnessed  was  stronger  than  any 
other  consideration.  The  revelation  of  De  Ferrieres'  se- 
cret poverty  seemed  a  chapter  from  a  romance  of  her  own 
weaving;  for  a  moment  it  lifted  the  miserable  hero  out  of 
the  depths  of  his  folly  and  selfishness.  She  forgot  the 
weakness  of  the  man  in  the  strength  of  his  dramatic  sur- 
roundings. It  partly  satisfied  a  craving  she  had  felt;  it 
was  not  exactly  the  story  of  the  ship,  as  she  had  dreamed 
it,  but  it  was  an  episode  in  her  experience  of  it  that  broke 
its  monotony.  That  she  should  soon  learn,  perhaps  from 
De  Ferrieres'  own  lips,  the  true  reason  of  his  strange  seclu- 
sion, and  that  it  involved  more  than  appeared  to  her  now, 
she  never  for  a  moment  doubted. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  she  again  knocked  softly  at  the 
door,  carrying  some  light  nourishment  she  had  prepared  for 
him.  He  was  asleep,  but  she  was  astounded  to  find  that 
in  the  interval  he  had  managed  to  dress  himself  completely 
in  his  antiquated  finery.  It  was  a  momentary  shock  to  the 
illusion  she  had  been  fostering,  but  she  forgot  it  in  the 
pitiable  contrast  between  his  haggard  face  and  his  poma- 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  249 

turned  hair  and  beard,  the  jauntiness  of  his  attire,  and  the 
collapse  of  his  invalid  figure.  When  she  had  satisfied  her- 
self that  his  sleep  was  natural,  she  busied  herself  softly  in 
arranging  the  miserable  apartment.  With  a  few  feminine 
touches  she  removed  the  slovenliness  of  misery,  and  placed 
the  loose  material  and  ostentatious  evidences  of  his  work 
on  one  side.  Finding  that  he  still  slept,  and  knowing  the 
importance  of  this  natural  medication,  she  placed  the  re- 
freshment she  had  brought  by  his  side  and  noiselessly 
quitted  the  apartment.  Hurrying  through  the  gathering 
darkness  between  decks,  she  once  or  twice  thought  she 
heard  footsteps,  and  paused,  but,  encountering  no  one,  at- 
tributed the  impression  to  her  over-consciousness.  Yet  she 
thought  it  prudent  to  go  to  the  galley  first,  where  she  lin- 
gered a  few  moments  before  returning  to  the  cabin.  On 
entering  she  was  a  little  startled  at  observing  a  figure  seated 
at  her  father's  desk,  but  was  relieved  at  finding  it  was  Mr. 
Kenshaw. 

He  rose  and  put  aside  the  book  he  had  idly  picked  up. 
"I  am  afraid  I  am  an  intentional  intruder  this  time,  Miss 
Nott.  But  I  found  no  one  here,  and  I  was  tempted  to 
look  into  this  ship-shape  little  snuggery.  You  see,  the 
temptation  got  the  better  of  me." 

His  voice  and  smile  were  so  frank  and  pleasant,  so  free 
from  his  previous  restraint,  yet  still  respectful,  so  youthful 
yet  manly,  that  Kosey  was  affected  by  them  even  in  her 
preoccupation.  Her  eyes  brightened  and  then  dropped  be- 
fore his  admiring  glance.  Had  she  known  that  the  excite- 
ment of  the  last  few  hours  had  brought  a  wonderful  charm 
into  her  pretty  face,  had  aroused  the  slumbering  life  of  her 
half-wakened  beauty,  she  would  have  been  more  confused. 
As  it  was,  she  was  only  glad  that  the  young  man  should 
turn  out  to  be  "nice."  Perhaps  he  might  tell  her  some- 
thing about  ships;  perhaps  if  she  had  only  known  him 
longer  she  might,  with  De  Ferrieres'  permission,  have 


250  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

shared  her  confidence  with  him,  and  enlisted  his  sympathy 
and  assistance.  She  contented  herself  with  showing  this 
anticipatory  gratitude  in  her  face  as  she  begged  him,  with 
the  timidity  of  a  maiden  hostess,  to  resume  his  seat. 

But  Mr.  Renshaw  seemed  to  talk  only  to  make  her  talk, 
and  I  am  forced  to  admit  that  Rosey  found  this  almost  as 
pleasant.  It  was  not  long  before  he  was  in  possession  of 
her  simple  history  from  the  day  of  her  baby  emigration  to 
California  to  the  transfer  of  her  childish  life  to  the  old  ship, 
and  even  of  much  of  the  romantic  fancies  she  had  woven 
into  her  existence  there.  Whatever  ulterior  purpose  he 
had  in  view,  he  listened  as  attentively  as  if  her  artless 
chronicle  was  filled  with  practical  information.  Once, 
when  she  had  paused  for  breath,  he  said  gravely,  "I  must 
ask  you  to  show  me  over  this  wonderful  ship  some  day,  that 
I  may  see  it  with  your  eyes." 

"But  I  think  you  know  it  already  better  than  I  do," 
said  Rosey,  with  a  smile. 

Mr.  Renshaw's  brow  clouded  slightly.  "Ah,"  he  said, 
with  a  touch  of  his  former  restraint;  "and  why? " 

"Well,"  said  Kosey  timidly,  "I  thought  you  went  round 
and  touched  things  in  a  familiar  way  as  if  you  had  handled 
them  before." 

The  young  man  raised  his  eyes  to  Rosey 's  and  kept  them 
there  long  enough  to  bring  back  his  gentler  expression. 
"  Then,  because  I  found  you  trying  on  a  very  queer  bonnet 
the  first  day  I  saw  you,"  he  said  mischievously,  "I  ought 
to  believe  you  were  in  the  habit  of  wearing  one." 

In  the  first  flush  of  mutual  admiration  young  people  are 
apt  to  find  a  laugh  quite  as  significant  as  a  sigh  for  an  ex- 
pression of  sympathetic  communion,  and  this  master-stroke 
of  wit  convulsed  them  both.  In  the  midst  of  it  Mr.  Nott 
entered  the  cabin.  But  the  complacency  with  which  he 
viewed  the  evident  perfect  understanding  of  the  pair  was 
destined  to  suffer  some  abatement.  Rosey,  suddenly  con- 


A  SHIP   OF  '49  251 

scious  that  she  was  in  some  way  participating  in  the  ridicule 
of  her  father  through  his  unhappy  gift,  became  embarrassed. 
Mr.  Eenshaw's  restraint  returned  with  the  presence  of 
the  old  man.  In  vain,  at  first,  Abner  Nott  strove  with 
profound  levity  to  indicate  his  arch  comprehension  of  the 
situation,  and  in  vain,  later,  becoming  alarmed  he  endea- 
vored, with  cheerful  gravity,  to  indicate  his  utter  oblivious- 
ness  of  any  but  a  business  significance  in  their  tete-a-tete. 

"I  oughtn't  to  hev  intruded,  Rosey,"  he  said,  "when 
you  and  the  gentleman  were  talkin'  of  contracts,  mebbe; 
but  don't  mind  me.  I  'm  on  the  fly  anyhow,  Rosey  dear, 
hevin'  to  see  a  man  round  the  corner." 

But  even  the  attitude  of  withdrawing  did  not  prevent 
the  exit  of  Renshaw  to  his  apartment  and  of  Rosey  to  the 
galley.  Left  alone  in  the  cabin,  Abner  Nott  felt  in  the 
knots  and  tangles  of  his  beard  for  a  reason.  Glancing 
down  at  his  prodigious  boots,  which,  covered  with  mud  and 
gravel,  strongly  emphasized  his  agricultural  origin  and 
gave  him  a  general  appearance  of  standing  on  his  own  broad 
acres,  he  was  struck  with  an  idea.  "It 's  them  boots,"  he 
whispered  to  himself  softly;  "they  somehow  don't  seem 
'xactly  to  trump  or  follow  suit  in  this  yer  cabin;  they 
don't  hitch  into  anythin'  but  jist  slosh  round  loose,  and 
so  to  speak  play  it  alone.  And  them  young  critters  nat'- 
rally  feels  it  and  gets  out  o'  the  way."  Acting  upon  this 
instinct  with  his  usual  precipitate  caution,  he  at  once  pro- 
ceeded to  the  nearest  second-hand  shop,  and  purchasing  a 
pair  of  enormous  carpet  slippers,  originally  the  property  of 
a  gouty  sea-captain,  reappeared  with  a  strong  suggestion 
of  newly  upholstering  the  cabin.  The  improvement,  how- 
ever, was  fraught  with  a  portentous  circumstance.  Mr. 
Nott's  footsteps,  which  usually  announced  his  approach  all 
over  the  ship,  became  stealthy  and  inaudible. 

Meantime  Miss  Rosey  had  taken  advantage  of  the  ab- 
sence of  her  father  to  visit  her  patient.  To  avoid  attract- 


252  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

ing  attention  she  did  not  take  a  light,  but  groped  her  way 
to  the  lower  deck  and  rapped  softly  at  the  door.  It  was 
instantly  opened  by  De  Ferrieres.  He  had  apparently 
appreciated  the  few  changes  she  had  already  made  in  the 
room,  and  had  himself  cleared  away  the  pallet,  from  which 
he  had  risen  to  make  two  low  seats  against  the  wall.  Two 
bits  of  candle  placed  on  the  floor  illuminated  the  beams 
above,  the  dressing-gown  was  artistically  draped  over  the 
solitary  chair,  and  a  pile  of  cushions  formed  another  seat. 
With  elaborate  courtesy  he  handed  Miss  Rosey  to  the 
chair.  He  looked  pale  and  weak,  though  the  gravity  of 
the  attack  had  evidently  passed.  Yet  he  persisted  in  re- 
maining standing.  "If  I  sit,"  he  explained  with  a  ges- 
ture, "I  shall  again  disgrace  myself  by  sleeping  in  made- 
moiselle's presence.  Yes!  I  shall  sleep  —  I  shall  dream 
—  and  wake  to  find  her  gone !  " 

More  embarrassed  by  his  recovery  than  when  he  was  ly- 
ing helplessly  before  her,  she  said  hesitatingly  that  she  was 
glad  he  was  better,  and  that  she  hoped  he  liked  the  broth. 

"It  was  manna  from  heaven,  mademoiselle.  See,  I 
have  taken  it  all  —  every  precious  drop.  What  else  could 
I  have  done  for  mademoiselle's  kindness?  " 

He  showed  her  the  empty  bowl.  A  swift  conviction 
came  upon  her  that  the  man  had  been  suffering  from  want 
of  food.  The  thought  restored  her  self-possession  even 
while  it  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes.  "I  wish  you  would 
let  me  speak  to  father  —  or  some  one,"  she  said  impul- 
sively, and  stopped. 

A  quick  and  half-insane  gleam  of  terror  and  suspicion 
lit  up  his  deep  eyes.  "  For  what,  mademoiselle !  For  an 
accident  —  that  is  nothing  —  absolutely  nothing,  for  I  am 
strong  and  well  now  —  see !  "  he  said  tremblingly.  "  Or 
for  a  whim  —  for  a  folly  you  may  say,  that  they  will  mis- 
understand. No,  mademoiselle  is  good,  is  wise.  She 
will  say  to  herself,  '  I  understand,  my  friend  Monsieur  de 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  253 

Ferrieres  for  the  moment  has  a  secret.  He  would  seem 
poor,  he  would  take  the  role  of  artisan,  he  would  shut 
himself  up  in  these  walls  —  perhaps  I  may  guess  why,  but 
it  is  his  secret.  I  think  of  it  no  more. '  "  He  caught  her 
hand  in  his  with  a  gesture  that  he  would  have  made  one  of 
gallantry,  but  that  in  its  tremulous  intensity  became  a  pit- 
eous supplication. 

"I  have  said  nothing,  and  will  say  nothing,  if  you  wish 
it,"  said  Rosey  hastily;  "but  others  may  find  out  how  you 
live  here.  This  is  not  fit  work  for  you.  You  seem  to  be 
a  —  a  gentleman.  You  ought  to  be  a  lawyer,  or  a  doctor, 
or  in  a  bank, "  she  continued  timidly,  with  a  vague  enumer- 
ation of  the  prevailing  degrees  of  local  gentility." 

He  dropped  her  hand.  "Ah!  does  not  mademoiselle 
comprehend  that  it  is  because  I  am  a  gentleman  that  there 
is  nothing  between  it  and  this  ?  Look !  "  he  continued  al- 
most fiercely.  "What  if  I  told  you  it  is  the  lawyer,  it  is 
the  doctor,  it  is  the  banker,  that  brings  me,  a  gentleman, 
to  this,  eh  1  Ah,  bah !  What  do  I  say  1  This  is  honest, 
what  I  do!  But  the  lawyer,  the  banker,  the  doctor,  what 
are  they  t "  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  pacing  the 
apartment  with  a  furtive  glance  at  the  half -anxious,  half- 
frightened  girl,  suddenly  stopped,  dragged  a  small  port- 
manteau from  behind  the  heap  of  bales,  and  opened  it. 
"Look,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  tremulously  lifting  a  hand- 
ful of  worn  and  soiled  letters  and  papers.  "  Look  —  these 
are  the  tools  of  your  banker,  your  lawyer,  your  doctor. 
With  this  the  banker  will  make  you  poor,  the  lawyer  will 
prove  you  a  thief,  the  doctor  will  swear  you  are  crazy,  eh  ? 
What  shall  you  call  the  work  of  a  gentleman  —  this  "  — 
he  dragged  the  pile  of  cushions  forward  —  "  or  this  1 " 

To  the  young  girl's  observant  eyes  some  of  the  papers 
appeared  to  be  of  a  legal  or  official  character,  and  others 
like  bills  of  lading,  with  which  she  was  familiar.  Their 
half-theatrical  exhibition  reminded  her  of  some  play  she 


254  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

had  seen;  they  might  be  the  clue  to  some  story,  or  the 
mere  worthless  hoardings  of  some  diseased  fancy.  What- 
ever they  were,  De  Ferrieres  did  not  apparently  care  to 
explain  further;  indeed,  the  next  moment  his  manner 
changed  to  his  old  absurd  extravagance.  "But  this  is 
stupid  for  mademoiselle  to  hear.  What  shall  we  speak 
of?  Ah!  what  should  we  speak  of  in  mademoiselle's  pre- 
sence ? " 

"But  are  not  these  papers  valuable?"  asked  Eosey, 
partly  to  draw  her  host's  thoughts  back  to  their  former 
channel. 

"Perhaps." 

He  paused  and  regarded  the  young  girl  fixedly.  "  Does 
mademoiselle  think  so  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Kosey.      "How  should  I? " 

"Ah!  if  mademoiselle  thought  so  —  if  mademoiselle 
would  deign  "  —  He  stopped  again  and  placed  his  hand 
upon  his  forehead.  "  It  might  be  so !  "  he  muttered. 

"I  must  go  now,"  said  Eosey  hurriedly,  rising  with  an 
awkward  sense  of  constraint.  "Father  will  wonder  where 
I  am." 

"I  shall  explain.  I  will  accompany  you,  mademoi- 
selle." 

"No,  no,"  said  Eosey  quickly;  "he  must  not  know  I 
have  been  here !  "  She  stopped.  The  honest  blush  flew 
to  her  cheek,  and  then  returned  again,  because  she  had 
blushed. 

De  Ferrieres  gazed  at  her  with  an  exalted  look.  Then 
drawing  himself  to  his  full  height,  he  said,  with  an  exag- 
gerated and  indescribable  gesture,  "  Go,  my  child,  go.  Tell 
your  father  that  you  have  been  alone  and  unprotected  in 
the  abode  of  poverty  and  suffering,  but  —  that  it  was  in 
the  presence  of  Armand  de  Ferrieres." 

He  threw  open  the  door  with  a  bow  that  nearly  swept 
the  ground,  but  did  not  again  offer  to  take  her  hand.  At 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  255 

once  impressed  and  embarrassed  at  this  crowning  incongru- 
ity, her  pretty  lips  trembled  between  a  smile  and  a  cry  as 
she  said,  "Good-night,"  and  slipped  away  into  the  dark- 
ness. 

Erect  and  grotesque  De  Ferrieres  retained  the  same  at- 
titude until  the  sound  of  her  footsteps  was  lost,  when  he 
slowly  began  to  close  the  door.  But  a  strong  arm  arrested 
it  from  without,  and  a  large  carpeted  foot  appeared  at  the 
bottom  of  the  narrowing  opening.  The  door  yielded,  and 
Mr.  Abner  Nott  entered  the  room. 

IV 

With  an  exclamation  and  a  hurried  glance  around  him, 
De  Ferrieres  threw  himself  before  the  intruder.  But 
slowly  lifting  his  large  hand,  and  placing  it  on  his  lodger's 
breast,  he  quietly  overbore  the  sick  man's  feeble  resistance 
with  an  impact  of  power  that  seemed  almost  as  moral  as 
it  was  physical.  He  did  not  appear  to  take  any  notice 
of  the  room  or  its  miserable  surroundings;  indeed,  scarcely 
of  the  occupant.  Still  pushing  him,  with  abstracted  eyes 
and  immobile  face,  tp  the  chair  that  Eosey  had  just  quitted, 
he  made  him  sit  down,  and  then  took  up  his  own  position 
on  the  pile  of  cushions  opposite.  His  usually  underdone 
complexion  was  of  watery  blueness ;  but  his  dull,  abstracted 
glance  appeared  to  exercise  a  certain  dumb,  narcotic  fasci- 
nation on  his  lodger. 

"I  mout,"  said  Nott  slowly,  "hev  laid  ye  out  here  on 
sight,  without  enny  warnin',  or  dropped  ye  in  yer  tracks 
in  Montgomery  Street,  wherever  there  was  room  to  work 
a  six-shooter  in  comf'ably.  Johnson,  of  Petaluny  — 
him,  ye  know,  ez  hed  a  game  eye  —  fetched  Flynn  comin' 
outer  meetin'  one  Sunday,  and  it  was  only  on  account  of 
his  wife,  and  she  a  second-hand  one,  so  to  speak.  There 
was  Walker,  of  Contra  Costa,  plugged  that  young  Sacra- 
mento chap,  whose  name  I  disremember,  full  o'  holes  jest 


256  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

ez  he  was  sayin'  '  good-by '  to  his  darter.  I  mout  hev 
done  all  this  if  it  had  settled  things  to  please  me.  For 
while  you  and  Flynn  and  that  Sacramento  chap  ez  all  about 
the  same  sort  o'  men,  Rosey  's  a  different  kind  from  their 
sort  o'  women." 

"  Mademoiselle  is  an  angel ! "  said  De  Ferrieres,  sud- 
denly rising,  with  an  excess  of  extravagance.  "  A  saint ! 
Look!  I  cram  the  lie,  ha!  down  his  throat  who  chal- 
lenges it." 

"Ef  by  mam'selle  ye  mean  my  Rosey,"  said  Nott,  qui- 
etly laying  his  powerful  hands  on  De  Ferrieres'  shoulders, 
and  slowly  pinning  him  down  again  upon  his  chair,  "ye  're 
about  right,  though  she  ain't  mam'selle  yet.  Ez  I  was 
sayin',  I  might  hev  killed  you  off-hand  ef  I  hed  thought 
it  would  hev  been  a  good  thing  for  Rosey." 

"For  her?  Ah,  well!  Look,  I  am  ready,"  interrupted 
De  Ferrieres,  again  springing  to  his  feet  and  throwing 
open  his  coat  with  both  hands.  "  See !  here  at  my  heart 
—  fire ! " 

"Ez  I  was  sayin',"  continued  Nott,  once  more  pressing 
the  excited  man  down  in  his  chair,  "L,  might  hev  wiped  ye 
out  —  and  mebbeye  wouldn't  hev  keered  —  or  you  might 
hev  wiped  me  out,  and  I  mout  hev  said,  '  Thank' e, '  but 
I  reckon  this  ain't  a  case  for  what 's  comf'able  for  you  and 
me.  It 's  what 's  good  for  Rosey.  And  the  thing  to  kal- 
kilate  is,  what 's  to  be  done." 

His  small  round  eyes  for  the  first  time  rested  on  De 
Ferrieres'  face,  and  were  quickly  withdrawn.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  this  abstracted  look,  which  had  fascinated  his 
lodger,  was  merely  a  resolute  avoidance  of  De  Ferrieres' 
glance,  and  it  became  apparent  later  that  this  avoidance  was 
due  to  a  ludicrous  appreciation  of  De  Ferrieres'  attractions. 

"And  after  we've  done  that  we  must  kalkilate  what 
Rosey  is,  and  what  Rosey  wants.  P'r'aps,  ye  allow,  you 
know  what  Rosey  is?  P'r'aps  you've  seen  her  prance 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  257 

round  in  velvet  bonnets  and  white  satin  slippers,  and  sich. 
P'r'aps  you  've  seen  her  readin'  tracks  and  v'yages,  with- 
out waitin'  to  spell  a  word,  or  catch  her  breath.  But  that 
ain't  the  Eosey  ez  I  knows.  It 's  a  little  child  ez  uster 
crawl  in  and  out  the  tailboard  of  a  Mizzouri  wagon  on  the 
alkali-pizoned  plains,  where  there  wasn't  another  bit  of 
God's  mercy  on  yearth  to  be  seen  for  miles  and  miles.  It 's 
a  little  gal  as  uster  hunger  and  thirst  ez  quiet  and  man- 
nerly ez  she  now  eats  and  drinks  in  plenty;  whose  voice 
was  ez  steady  with  Injins  yellin'  round  yer  nest  in  the 
leaves  on  Sweetwater  ez  in  her  purty  cabin  up  yonder. 
That 's  the  gal  ez  I  knows!  That 's  the  Eosey  ez  my  ole 
woman  puts  into  my  arms  one  night  arter  we  left  Laramie 
when  the  fever  was  high,  and  sez,  '  Abner, '  sez  she,  '  the 
chariot  is  swingin'  low  for  me  to-night,  but  thar  ain't  room 
in  it  for  her  or  you  to  git  in  or  hitch  on.  Take  her  and 
rare  her,  so  we  kin  all  jine  on  the  other  shore,'  sez  she. 
And  I  'd  knowed  the  other  shore  was  n't  no  Californy. 
And  that  night,  p'r'aps,  the  chariot  swung  lower  than  ever 
before,  and  my  ole  woman  stepped  into  it,  and  left  me  and 
Eosey  to  creep  on  in  the  old  wagon  alone.  It 's  them  kind 
o'  things,"  added  Mr.  Nott  thoughtfully,  "that  seem  to 
pint  to  my  killin'  you  on  sight  ez  the  best  thing  to  be 
done.  And  yet  Eosey  mightn't  like  it." 

He  had  slipped  one  of  his  feet  out  of  his  huge  carpet 
slippers;  and  as  he  reached  down  to  put  it  on  again,  he 
added  calmly,  "And  ez  to  yer  marrying  her  it  ain't  to  be 
done." 

The  utterly  bewildered  expression  which  transfigured  De 
Ferrieres'  face  at  this  announcement  was  unobserved  by 
Nott's  averted  eyes,  nor  did  he  perceive  that  his  listener 
the  next  moment  straightened  his  erect  figure  and  adjusted 
his  cravat. 

"Ef  Eosey,"  he  continued,  "hez  read  in  v'yages  and 
tracks  in  Eyetalian  and  French  countries  of  such  chaps  ez 


258  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

you  and  kalkilates  you  're  the  right  kind  to  tie  to,  mebhe 
it  mout  hev  done  if  you  'd  been  livin'  over  thar  in  a  paliss, 
but  somehow  it  don't  jibe  in  over  here  and  agree  with  a 
ship  —  and  that  ship  lying  comf 'able  ashore  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. You  don't  seem  to  suit  the  climate,  you  see,  and 
your  general  gait  is  likely  to  stampede  the  other  cattle. 
Agin,"  said  Nott,  with  an  ostentation  of  looking  at  his 
companion,  but  really  gazing  on  vacancy,  "this  fixed-up, 
antique  style  of  yours  goes  better  with  them  ivy-kivered 
ruins  in  Rome  and  Palmyry  that  Eosey  's  mixed  you  up 
with,  than  it  would  yere.  I  ain't  say  in',"  he  added,  as 
De  Ferrieres  was  about  to  speak,  — "I  ain't  sayin'  ez  that 
child  ain't  smitten  with  ye.  It  ain't  no  use  to  lie  and  say 
she  don't  prefer  you  to  her  old  father,  or  young  chaps  of 
her  own  age  and  kind.  I  've  seed  it  afor  now.  I  suspi- 
cioned  it  afor  I  seed  her  slip  out  o'  this  place  to-night. 
Thar !  keep  your  hair  on,  such  ez  it  is ! "  he  added,  as  De 
Ferrieres  attempted  a  quick  deprecatory  gesture.  "I  ain't 
askin'  yer  how  often  she  comes  here,  nor  what  she  sez  to 
you  nor  you  to  her.  I  ain't  asked  her  and  I  don't  ask 
you.  I  '11  allow  ez  you  've  settled  all  the  preliminaries  and 
bought  her  the  ring  and  sich;  I'm  only  askin'  you  now, 
kalkilatin'  you  've  got  all  the  keerds  in  your  own  hand, 
what  you  '11  take  to  step  out  and  leave  the  board  ? " 

The  dazed  look  of  De  Ferrieres  might  have  forced  itself 
even  upon  Nott's  one-idea'd  fatuity,  had  it  not  been  a  part 
of  that  gentleman's  system  delicately  to  look  another  way 
at  that  moment  so  as  not  to  embarrass  his  adversary's  cal- 
culation. "Pardon,"  stammered  De  Ferrieres,  "but  I  do 
not  comprehend ! "  He  raised  his  hand  to  his  head.  "  I 
am  not  well  —  I  am  stupid.  Ah,  mon  Dieu !  " 

"I  ain't  sayin',"  added  Nott  more  gently,  "ez  you 
don't  feel  bad.  It 's  nat'ral.  But  it  ain't  business. 
I'm  asking  you,"  he  continued,  taking  from  his  breast 
pocket  a  large  wallet,  "how  much  you  '11  take  in  cash  now, 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  259 

and  the  rest  next  steamer  day,  to  give  up  Eosey  and  leave 
the  ship." 

De  Ferrieres  staggered  to  his  feet  despite  Nott's  re- 
straining hand.  "To  leave  mademoiselle  and  leave  the 
ship  ?  "  he  said  huskily,  "  is  it  not  ?  " 

"In  course.  Yer  can  leave  things  yer  just  ez  you  found 
'em  when  you  came,  you  know,"  continued  Nott,  for  the 
first  time  looking  round  the  miserable  apartment.  "It 's  a 
business  job.  I  '11  take  the  bales  back  agin,  and  you  kin 
reckon  up  what  you  're  out,  countin'  Eosey  and  loss  o' 
time." 

"He  wishes  me  to  go  —  he  has  said,"  repeated  De 
Ferrieres  to  himself  thickly. 

"Ef  you  mean  me  when  you  say  him,  and  ez  thar  ain't 
any  other  man  around,  I  reckon  you  do  —  '  yes ! '  r> 

"And  he  asks  me  —  he  —  this  man  of  the  feet  and  the 
daughter  —  asks  me  —  De  Ferrieres  —  what  I  will  take," 
continued  De  Ferrieres,  buttoning  his  coat.  "No!  it  is 
a  dream !  "  He  walked  stiffly  to  the  corner  where  his  port- 
manteau lay,  lifted  it,  and  going  to  the  outer  door,  a  cut 
through  the  ship's  side  that  communicated  with  the  alley, 
unlocked  it  and  flung  it  open  to  the  night.  A  thick  mist 
like  the  breath  of  the  ocean  flowed  into  the  room. 

"You  ask  me  what  I  shall  take  to  go,"  he  said,  as  he 
stood  on  the  threshold.  "I  shall  take  what  you  cannot 
give,  monsieur,  but  what  I  would  not  keep  if  I  stood  here 
another  moment.  I  take  my  honor,  monsieur,  and  —  I 
take  my  leave !  " 

For  a  moment  his  grotesque  figure  was  outlined  in  the 
opening,  and  then  disappeared  as  if  he  had  dropped  into 
an  invisible  ocean  below.  Stupefied  and  disconcerted  at 
this  complete  success  of  his  overtures,  Abner  Nott  remained 
speechless,  gazing  at  the  vacant  space  until  a  cold  influx  of 
the  mist  recalled  him.  Then  he  rose  and  shuffled  quickly 
to  the  door. 


260  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

"Hi!  Ferrers!  Look  yer  —  Say!  Wot 's  your  hurry, 
pardner  ? " 

But  there  was  no  response.  The  thick  mist,  which  hid 
the  surrounding  objects,  seemed  to  deaden  all  sound  also. 
After  a  moment's  pause  he  closed  the  door,  but  did  not 
lock  it,  and  retreating  to  the  centre  of  the  room  remained 
blinking  at  the  two  candles  and  plucking  some  perplexing 
problem  from  his  beard.  Suddenly  an  idea  seized  him. 
Eosey !  Where  was  she  1  Perhaps  it  had  been  a  precon- 
certed plan,  and  she  had  fled  with  him.  Putting  out  the 
lights  he  stumbled  hurriedly  through  the  passage  to  the 
gangway  above.  The  cabin  door  was  open;  there  was  the 
sound  of  voices  —  Eenshaw's  and  Eosey 's.  Mr.  Nott  felt 
relieved  but  not  unembarrassed.  He  would  have  avoided 
his  daughter's  presence  that  evening.  But  even  while 
making  this  resolution  with  characteristic  infelicity  he 
blundered  into  the  room.  Eosey  looked  up  with  a  slight 
start;  Eenshaw's  animated  face  was  changed  to  its  former 
expression  of  inward  discontent. 

"You  came  in  so  like  a  ghost,  father,"  said  Eosey,  with 
a  slight  peevishness  that  was  new  to.  her.  "And  I  thought 
you  were  in  town.  Don't  go,  Mr.  Eenshaw." 

But  Mr.  Eenshaw  intimated  that  he  had  already  tres- 
passed upon  Miss  Nott's  time,  and  that  no  doubt  her  father 
wanted  to  talk  with  her.  To  his  surprise  and  annoyance, 
however,  Mr.  Nott  insisted  on  accompanying  him  to  his 
room,  and  without  heeding  Eenshaw's  cold  "Good-night," 
entered  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"P'r'aps,"  said  Mr.  Nott,  with  a  troubled  air,  "you  dis- 
remember  that  when  you  first  kem  here  you  asked  me  if 
you  could  hev  that  'ere  loft  that  the  Frenchman  had  down- 
stairs. " 

"No,  I  don't  remember  it,"  said  Eenshaw  almost  rudely. 
"But,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
obliged  to  revive  a  stale  and  unpleasant  memory,  "  if  I  did 
—  what  about  it?"  " 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  261 

"Nuthin',  only  that  you  kin  hev  it  to-morrow,  ez  that 
'ere  Frenchman  is  movin'  out,"  responded  Nott.  "I 
thought  you  was  sorter  keen  about  it  when  you  first  kem." 

"Umph!  we'll  talk  about  it  to-morrow."  Something 
in  the  look  of  wearied  perplexity  with  which  Mr.  Nott 
was  beginning  to  regard  his  own  malapropos  presence  ar- 
rested the  young  man's  attention.  "What's  the  reason 
you  did  n't  sell  this  old  ship  long  ago,  take  a  decent  house 
in  the  town,  and  bring  up  your  daughter  like  a  lady  1  "  he 
asked,  with  a  sudden  blunt  good  humor.  But  even  this 
implied  blasphemy  against  the  habitation  he  worshiped  did 
not  prevent  Mr.  Nott  from  his  usual  misconstruction  of 
the  question. 

"I  reckon,  now,  Eosey  's  got  high-flown  ideas  of  livin' 
in  a  castle  with  ruins,  eh  1 "  he  said  cunningly. 

"Haven't  heard  her  say,"  returned  Eenshaw  abruptly. 
"  Good-night. " 

Firmly  convinced  that  Eosey  had  been  unable  to  con- 
ceal from  Mr.  Eenshaw  the  influence  of  her  dreams  of  a 
castellated  future  with  De  Ferrieres,  he  regained  the  cabin. 
Satisfying  himself  that  his  daughter  had  retired,  he  sought 
his  own  couch.  But  not  to  sleep.  The  figure  of  De 
Ferrieres,  standing  in  the  ship  side  and  melting  into  the 
outer  darkness,  haunted  him,  and  compelled  him  in  dreams 
to  rise  and  follow  him  through  the  alleys  and  byways  of 
the  crowded  city.  Again,  it  was  a  part  of  his  morbid  sus- 
picion that  he  now  invested  the  absent  man  with  a  poten- 
tial significance  and  an  unknown  power.  What  deep-laid 
plans  might  he  not  form  to  possess  himself  of  Eosey,  of 
which  he,  Abner  Nott,  would  be  ignorant?  Unchecked  by 
the  restraint  of  a  father's  roof,  he  would  now  give  full 
license  to  his  power.  "  Said  he  'd  take  his  honor  with 
him,"  muttered  Abner  to  himself  in  the  dim  watches  of 
the  night;  "lookin'  at  that  sayin'  in  its  right  light,  it 
looks  bad." 


262  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

V 

The  elaborately  untruthful  account  which  Mr.  Nott  gave 
his  daughter  of  De  Ferrieres'  sudden  departure  was  more 
fortunate  than  his  usual  equivocations.  While  it  disap- 
pointed and  slightly  mortified  her,  it  did  not  seem  to  her 
inconsistent  with  what  she  already  knew  of  him.  "Said 
his  doctor  had  ordered  him  to  quit  town  under  an  hour, 
owing  to  a  comin'  attack  of  hay-fever,  and  he  had  a  friend 
from  furrin  parts  waitin'  him  at  the  Springs,  Kosey,"  ex- 
plained Nott,  hesitating  between  his  desire  to  avoid  his 
daughter's  eyes  and  his  wish  to  observe  her  countenance. 

"Was  he  worse?  —  I  mean  did  he  look  badly,  father?" 
inquired  Hosey  thoughtfully. 

"I  reckon  not  exactly  bad.  Kinder  looked  as  if  he 
mout  be  worse  soon  ef  he  didn't  hump  hisself." 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?  —  in  his  room  ?  "  asked  Rosey  anx- 
iously. Upon  the  answer  to  this  simple  question  depended 
the  future  confidential  relations  of  father  and  daughter.  If 
her  father  had  himself  detected  the  means  by  which  his 
lodger  existed,  she  felt  that  her  own  obligations  to  secrecy 
had  been  removed.  But  Mr.  Nott's  answer  disposed  of 
this  vain  hope.  It  was  a  response  after  his  usual  fashion 
to  the  question  he  imagined  she  artfully  wished  to  ask, 
i.  e.,  if  he  had  discovered  their  rendezvous  of  the  previous 
night.  This  it  was  part  of  his  peculiar  delicacy  to  ignore. 
Yet  his  reply  showed  that  he  had  been  unconscious  of  the 
one  miserable  secret  that  he  might  have  read  easily. 

"I  was  there  an  hour  or  so  —  him  and  me  alone  —  dis- 
cussin'  trade.  I  reckon  he  's  got  a  good  thing  outer  that 
curled  horsehair,  for  I  see  he  's  got  in  an  invoice  o'  cush- 
ions. I  've  stowed  'em  all  in  the  forrard  bulkhead  until 
he  sends  for  'em,  ez  Mr.  Renshaw  hez  taken  the  loft." 

But  although  Mr.  Eenshaw  had  taken  the  loft,  he  did 
not  seem  in  haste  to  occupy  it.  He  spent  part  of  the  morn- 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  263 

ing  in  uneasily  pacing  his  room,  .in  occasional  sallies  into 
the  street  from  which  he  purposelessly  returned,  and  once 
or  twice  in  distant  and  furtive  contemplation  of  Eosey  at 
work  in  the  galley.  This  last  observation  was  not  unno- 
ticed hy  the  astute  Nott,  who  at  once  conceiving  that  he 
was  nourishing  a  secret  and  hopeless  passion  for  Eosey, 
began  to  consider  whether  it  was  not  his  duty  to  warn  the 
young  man  of  her  preoccupied  affections.  But  Mr.  Een- 
shaw's  final  disappearance  obliged  him  to  withhold  his  con- 
fidence till  morning. 

This  time  Mr.  Eenshaw  left  the  ship  with  the  evident 
determination  of  some  settled  purpose.  He  walked  rapidly 
until  he  reached  the  counting-house  of  Mr.  Sleight,  when 
he  was  at  once  shown  into  a  private  office.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments Mr.  Sleight,  a  brusque  but  passionless  man,  joined 
him. 

"Well,"  said  Sleight,  closing  the  door  carefully.  "What 
news  ? " 

"None,"  said  Eenshaw  bluntly.  "Look  here,  Sleight," 
he  added,  turning  to  him  suddenly.  "Let  me  out  of  this 
game.  I  don't  like  it." 

"Does  that  mean  you've  found  nothing?"  asked 
Sleight  sarcastically. 

"It  means  that  I  haven't  looked  for  anything,  and  that 
I  don't  intend  to  without  the  full  knowledge  of  that  d — d 
fool  who  owns  the  ship." 

"You've  changed  your  mind  since  you  wrote  that  let- 
ter," said  Sleight  coolly,  producing  from  a  drawer  the  note 
already  known  to  the  reader.  Eenshaw  mechanically  ex- 
tended his  hand  to  take  it.  Mr.  Sleight  dropped  the  letter 
back  into  the  drawer,  which  he  quietly  locked.  The 
apparently  simple  act  dyed  Mr.  Eenshaw 's  cheek  with 
color,  but  it  vanished  quickly,  and  with  it  any'  token  of 
his  previous  embarrassment.  He  looked  at  Sleight  with 
the  convinced  air  of  a  resolute  man  who  had  at  last  taken 


264  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

a  disagreeable  step,  but  was  willing  to  stand  by  the  conse- 
quences. 

"I  have  changed  my  mind,"  he  said  coolly.  "I  found 
out  that  it  was  one  thing  to  go  down  there  as  a  skilled 
prospector  might  go  to  examine  a  mine  that  was  to  be  val- 
ued according  to  his  report  of  the  indications,  but  that  it 
was  entirely  another  thing  to  go  and  play  the  spy  in  a 
poor  devil's  house  in  order  to  buy  something  he  didn't 
know  he  was  selling  and  would  n't  sell  if  he  did." 

"And  something  that  the  man  he  bought  of  didn't 
think  of  selling;  something  he  himself  never  paid  for,  and 
never  expected  to  buy,"  sneered  Sleight. 

"But  something  that  we  expect  to  buy  from  our  know- 
ledge of  all  this,  and  it  is  that  which  makes  all  the  differ- 
ence." 

"But  you  knew  all  this  before." 

"I  never  saw  it  in  this  light  before.  I  never  thought 
of  it  until  I  was  living  there  face  to  face  with  the  old  fool 
I  was  intending  to  overreach.  I  never  was  sure  of  it  un- 
til this  morning,  when  he  actually  turned  out  one  of  his 
lodgers  that  I  might  have  the  very  room  I  required  to  play 
off  our  little  game  in  comfortably.  When  he  did  that,  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  drop  the  whole  thing,  and  I  'm  here 
to  do  it." 

"  And  let  somebody  else  take  the  responsibility  —  with 
the  percentage  —  unless  you  've  also  felt  it  your  duty  to 
warn  Nott  too,"  said  Sleight,  with  a  sneer. 

"You  only  dare  say  that  to  me,  Sleight,"  said  Renshaw 
quietly,  "because  you  have  in  that  drawer  an  equal  evi- 
dence of  my  folly  and  my  confidence;  but  if  you  are  wise 
you  will  not  presume  too  far  on  either.  Let  us  see  how 
we  stand.  Through  the  yarn  of  a  drunken  captain  and  a 
mutinous  sailor  you  became  aware  of  an  unclaimed  ship- 
ment of  treasure  concealed  in  an  unknown  ship  that  entered 
this  harbor.  You  are  enabled,  through  me,  to  corroborate 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  265 

some  facts  and  identify  the  ship.  You  proposed  to  me,  as 
a  speculation,  to  identify  the  treasure  if  possible  before 
you  purchased  the  ship.  I  accepted  the  offer  without  con- 
sideration; on  consideration  I  now  decline  it,  but  without 
prejudice  or  loss  to  any  one  but  myself.  As  to  your  insin- 
uation I  need  not  remind  you  that  my  presence  here  to- 
day refutes  it.  I  would  not  require  your  permission  to 
make  a  much  better  bargain  with  a  good-natured  fool  like 
Nott  than  I  could  with  you.  Or  if  I  did  not  care  for  the 
business  I  could  have  warned  the  girl "  — 

"  The  girl  —  what  girl  ?  " 

Kenshaw  bit  his  lip,  but  answered  boldly:  "The  old 
man's  daughter  —  a  poor  girl  —  whom  this  act  would  rob  as 
well  as  her  father." 

Sleight  looked  at  his  companion  attentively.  "You 
might  have  said  so  at  first,  and  let  up  on  this  camp-meetin' 
exhortation.  Well,  then  —  admitting  you 've  got  the  old 
man  and  the  young  girl  on  the  same  string,  and  that 
you  've  played  it  pretty  low  down  in  the  short  time  you  've 
been  there, — I  suppose,  Dick  Eenshaw,  I've  got  to  see 
your  bluff.  Well,  how  much  is  it?  What's  the  figure 
you  and  she  have  settled  on  ? " 

For  an  instant  Mr.  Sleight  was  in  physical  danger. 
But  before  he  had  finished  speaking  Eenshaw 's  quick 
sense  of  the  ludicrous  had  so  far  overcome  his  first  indig- 
nation as  to  enable  him  even  to  admire  the  perfect  moral 
insensibility  of  his  companion.  As  he  rose  and  walked  to- 
wards the  door,  he  half  wondered  that  he  had  ever  treated 
the  affair  seriously.  With  a  smile  he  replied :  — 

"Far  from  bluffing,  Sleight,  I  am  throwing  my  cards  on 
the  table.  Consider  that  I  've  passed  out.  Let  some  other 
man  take  my  hand.  Rake  down  the  pot  if  you  like,  old 
man,  /leave  for  Sacramento  to-night.  Adios." 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  him  Mr.  Sleight  sum- 
moned his  clerk. 


266  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

"Is  that  petition  for  grading  Pontiac  Street  ready? " 

"I've  seen  the  largest  property-holders,  sir;  they're 
only  waiting  for  you  to  sign  first. "  Mr.  Sleight  paused  and 
then  affixed  his  signature  to  the  paper  his  clerk  laid  before 
him.  "  Get  the  other  names  and  send  it  up  at  once. " 

"If  Mr.  Nott  doesn't  sign,  sir?" 

"No  matter.  He  will  be  assessed  all  the  same."  Mr. 
Sleight  took  up  his  hat. 

"The  Lascar  seaman  that  was  here  the  other  day  has 
been  wanting  to  see  you,  sir.  I  said  you  were  busy." 

Mr.  Sleight  put  down  his  hat.      "  Send  him  up. " 

Nevertheless  Mr.  Sleight  sat  down  and  at  once  abstracted 
himself  so  completely  as  to  be  apparently  in  utter  oblivioii 
of  the  man  who  entered.  He  was  lithe  and  Indian-look- 
ing; bearing  in  dress  and  manner  the  careless  slouch  with, 
out  the  easy  frankness  of  a  sailor. 

"Well!"  said  Sleight,  without  looking  up. 

"I  was  only  wantin'  to  know  ef  you  had  any  news  for 
me,  boss  ? " 

"  News  ? "  echoed  Sleight,  as  if  absently ;  "  news  of  what  ?  " 

"  That  little  matter  of  the  Pontiac  we  talked  about,  boss, " 
returned  the  Lascar,  with  an  uneasy  servility  in  the  whites 
of  his  teeth  and  eyes. 

"Oh,"  said  Sleight,  "that 's  played  out.  It 's  a  regular 
fraud.  It 's  an  old  forecastle  yarn,  my  man,  that  you 
can't  reel  off  in  the  cabin." 

The  sailor's  face  darkened. 

"  The  man  who  was  looking  into  it  has  thrown  the  whole 
thing  up.  I  tell  you  it 's  played  out!  "  repeated  Sleight, 
without  raising  his  head. 

"It's  true,  boss  —  every  word,"  said  the  Lascar,  with 
an  appealing  insinuation  that  seemed  to  struggle  hard  with 
savage  earnestness.  "You  can  swear  me,  boss;  I  would  n't 
lie  to  a  gentleman  like  you.  Your  man  has  n't  half  looked, 
or  else  —  it  must  be  there,  or  "  — 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  267 

"That 's  just  it,"  said  Sleight  slowly;  "who  's  to  know 
that  your  friends  haven't  been  there  already  —  that  seems 
to  have  been  your  style." 

"  But  no  one  knew  it  but  me,  until  I  told  you,  I  swear 
to  God.  I  ain't  lying,  boss,  and  I  ain't  drunk.  Say  — 
don't  give  it  up,  boss.  That  man  of  yours  likely  don't 
believe  it,  because  he  don't  know  anything  about  it.  I  do 
—  I could  find  it." 

A  silence  followed.  Mr.  Sleight  remained  completely 
absorbed  in  his  papers  for  some  moments.  Then  glancing 
at  the  Lascar,  he  took  his  pen,  wrote  a  hurried  note,  folded 
it,  addressed  it,  and  holding  it  between  his  fingers,  leaned 
back  in  his  chair. 

"If  you  choose  to  take  this  note  to  my  man,  he  may 
give  it  another  show.  Mind,  I  don't  say  that  he  will. 
He  's  going  to  Sacramento  to-night,  but  you  could  go  down 
there  and  find  him  before  he  starts.  He  's  got  a  room 
there,  I  believe.  While  you  're  waiting  for  him,  you  might 
keep  your  eyes  open  to  satisfy  yourself." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  the  sailor,  eagerly  endeavoring  to 
catch  the  eye  of  his  employer.  But  Mr.  Sleight  looked 
straight  before  him,  and  he  turned  to  go. 

"The  Sacramento  boat  goes  at  nine,"  said  Mr.  Sleight 
quietly. 

This  time  their  glances  met,  and  the  Lascar's  eye  glis- 
tened with  subtle  intelligence.  The  next  moment  he  was 
gone,  and  Mr.  Sleight  again  became  absorbed  in  his  papers. 

Meanwhile  Kenshaw  was  making  his  way  back  to  the 
Pontiac  with  that  light-hearted  optimism  that  had  charac- 
terized his  parting 'with  Sleight.  It  was  this  quality  of  his 
nature,  fostered  perhaps  by  the  easy  civilization  in  which 
he  moved,  that  had  originally  drawn  him  into  relations 
with  the  man  he  had  just  quitted ;  a  quality  that  had  been 
troubled  and  darkened  by  those  relations,  yet,  when  they 
were  broken,  at  once  returned.  It  consequently  did  not 


268  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

occur  to  him  that  he  had  only  selfishly  compromised  with 
the  difficulty ;  it  seemed  to  him  enough  that  he  had  with- 
drawn from  a  compact  he  thought  dishonorahle ;  he  was 
not  called  upon  to  betray  his  partner  in  that  compact  merely 
to  benefit  others.  He  had  been  willing  to  incur  suspicion 
and  loss  to  reinstate  himself  in  his  self-respect,  more  he 
could  not  do  without  justifying  that  suspicion.  The  view 
taken  by  Sleight  was,  after  all,  that  which  most  business 
men  would  take  —  which  even  the  unbusinesslike  Nott 
would  take  —  which  the  girl  herself  might  be  tempted  to 
listen  to.  Clearly  he  could  do  nothing  but  abandon  the 
Pontiac  and  her  owner  to  the  fate  he  could  not  in  honor 
avert.  And  even  that  fate  was  problematical.  It  did  not 
follow  that  the  treasure  was  still  concealed  in  the  Pontiac, 
nor  that  Nott  would  be  willing  to  sell  her.  He  would 
make  some  excuse  to  Nott  —  he  smiled  to  think  he  would 
probably  be  classed  in  the  long  line  of  absconding  tenants 
—  he  would  say  good- by  to  Kosey,  and  leave  for  Sacramento 
that  night.  He  ascended  the  stairs  to  the  gangway  with 
a  freer  breast  than  when  he  first  entered  the  ship. 

Mr.  Nott  was  evidently  absent ;  and  after  a  quick  glance 
at  the  half-open  cabin  door,  Kenshaw  turned  towards  the 
galley.  But  Miss  Rosey  was  not  in  her  accustomed  haunt, 
and  with  a  feeling  of  disappointment,  which  seemed  in- 
consistent with  so  slight  a  cause,  he  crossed  the  deck  im- 
patiently and  entered  his  room.  He  was  about  to  close 
the  door  when  the  prolonged  rustle  of  a  trailing  skirt  in 
the  passage  attracted  his  attention.  The  sound  was  so 
unlike  that  made  by  any  garment  worn  by  Rosey  that  he 
remained  motionless,  with  his  hand  on  the  door.  The 
sound  approached  nearer,  and  the  next  moment  a  white 
veiled  figure  with  a  trailing  skirt  slowly  swept  past  the 
room.  Kenshaw's  pulses  halted  for  an  instant  in  half- 
superstitious  awe.  As  the  apparition  glided  on  and  van- 
ished in  the  cabin  door  he  could  only  see  that  it  was  the 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  269 

form  of  a  beautiful  and  graceful  woman  —  but  nothing 
more.  Bewildered  and  curious,  he  forgot  himself  so  far 
as  to  follow  it  and  impulsively  entered  the  cabin.  The 
figure  turned,  uttered  a  little  cry,  threw  the  veil  aside,  and 
showed  the  half-troubled,  half-blushing  face  of  Eosey. 

"I  —  beg  —  your  pardon, "  stammered  Eenshaw ;  "I 
didn't  know  it  was  you." 

"  I  was  trying  on  some  things, "  said  Eosey,  recovering 
her  composure  and  pointing  to  an  open  trunk  that  seemed 
to  contain  a  theatrical  wardrobe  —  "some  things  father  gave 
me  long  ago.  I  wanted  to  see  if  there  was  anything  I 
could  use.  I  thought  I  was  all  alone  in  the  ship,  but 
fancying  I  heard  a  noise  forward,  I  came  out  to  see  what  it 
was.  I  suppose-  it  must  have  been  you. " 

She  raised  her  clear  eyes  to  his,  with  a  slight  touch  of 
womanly  reserve  that  was  so  incompatible  with  any  vulgar 
vanity  or  girlish  coquetry  that  he  became  the  more  embar- 
rassed.  Her  dress,  too,  of  a  slightly  antique  shape,  rich 
but  simple,  seemed  to  reveal  and  accent  a  certain  repose  of 
gentle  womanliness,  that  he  was  now  wishing  to  believe  he 
had  always  noticed.  Conscious  of  a  superiority  in  her 
that  now  seemed  to  change  their  relations  completely,  he 
alone  remained  silent,  awkward,  and  embarrassed  before 
the  girl  who  had  taken  care  of  his  room,  and  who  cooked 
in  the  galley!  What  he  had  thoughtlessly  considered  a 
merely  vulgar  business  intrigue  against  her  stupid  father, 
now  to  his  extravagant  fancy  assumed  the  proportions  of 
a  sacrilege  to  herself. 

"You've  had  your  revenge,  Miss  Nott,  for  the  fright 
I  once  gave  you,"  he  said  a  little  uneasily,  "for  you  quite 
startled  me  just  now  as  you  passed.  I  began  to  think  the 
Pontiac  was  haunted.  I  thought  you  were  a  ghost.  I 
don't  know  why  such  a  ghost  should  frighten  anybody," 
he  went  on  with  a  desperate  attempt  to  recover  his  posi- 
tion by  gallantry.  "Let  me  see  —  that's  Donna  Elvira's 
dress  — is  it  not  ?  " 


270  A   SHIP  OF  '49 

"I  don't  think  that  was  the  poor  woman's  name,"  said 
Kosey  simply;  "she  died  of  yellow  fever  at  New  Orleans 
as  Signora  Somebody." 

Her  ignorance  seemed  to  Mr.  Kenshaw  so  plainly  to 
partake  more  of  the  nun  than  the  provincial,  that  he  hesi- 
tated to  explain  to  her  that  he  meant  the  heroine  of  an 
opera. 

"It  seems  dreadful  to  put  on  the  poor  thing's  clothes, 
doesn't  it?  "  she  added. 

Mr.  Renshaw's  eyes  showed  so  plainly  that  he  thought 
otherwise,  that  she  drew  a  little  austerely  towards  the  door 
of  her  stateroom. 

"I  must  change  these  things  before  any  one  comes," 
she  said  dryly. 

"That  means  I  must  go,  I  suppose.  But  couldn't  you 
let  me  wait  here  or  in  the  gangway  until  then,  Miss  Nott? 
I  am  going  away  to-night,  and  I  mayn't  see  you  again." 
He  had  not  intended  to  say  this,  but  it  slipped  from  his 
embarrassed  tongue.  She  stopped  with  her  hand  on  the 
door. 

"  You  are  going  away  ?  " 

"I  —  think  —  I  must  leave  to-night.  I  have  some  im- 
portant business  in  Sacramento." 

She  raised  her  frank  eyes  to  his.  The  unmistakable 
look  of  disappointment  that  he  saw  in  them  gave  his  heart 
a  sudden  throb  and  sent  the  quick  blood  to  his  cheeks. 

"It's  too  bad,"  she  said  abstractedly.  "Nobody  ever 
seems  to  stay  here  long.  Captain  Bower  promised  to  tell 
me  all  about  the  ship,  and  he  went  away  the  second  week. 
The  photographer  left  before  he  finished  the  picture  of  the 
Pontiac;  Monsieur  de  Ferrieres  has  only  just  gone;  and 
now  you  are  going." 

"Perhaps,  unlike  them,  I  have  finished  my  season  of 
usefulness  here,"  he  replied,  with  a  bitterness  he  would 
have  recalled  the  next  moment.  But  Rosey,  with  a  faint 


A  SHIP  OF   '49  271 

sigh,  saying,  "I  won't  be  long,"  entered  the  stateroom  and 
closed  the  door  behind  her. 

Eenshaw  pulled  at  the  long  silken  threads  of  his  mus- 
tache and  bit  his  lip  until  it  smarted.  Why  had  he  not 
gone  at  once  ?  Why  was  it  necessary  to  say  he  might  not 
see  her  again  —  and  if  he  had  said  it,  why  should  he  add 
anything  more  ?  What  was  he  waiting  for  now  ?  To  en- 
deavor to  prove  to  her  that  he  really  bore  no  resemblance 
to  Captain  Bower,  the  photographer,  the  crazy  French- 
man De  Ferrieres  ?  Or  would  he  be  forced  to  tell  her  that 
he  was  running  away  from  a  conspiracy  to  defraud  her 
father  —  merely  for  something  to  say?  Was  there  ever 
such  folly  ?  Eosey  was  "  not  long, "  as  she  had  said,  but  he 
was  beginning  to  pace  the  narrow  cabin  impatiently  when 
the  door  opened  and  she  returned. 

She  had  resumed  her  ordinary  calico  gown,  but  such  was 
the  impression  left  upon  Eenshaw's  fancy  that  she  seemed 
to  wear  it  with  a  new  grace.  At  any  other  time  he  might 
have  recognized  the  change  as  due  to  a  new  corset,  which 
strict  veracity  compels  me  to  record  Eosey  had  adopted 
for  the  first  time  that  morning.  Howbeit,  her  slight  co- 
quetry seemed  to  have  passed,  for  she  closed  the  open  trunk 
with  a  return  of  her  old  listless  air,  and  sitting  on  it  rested 
her  elbows  on  her  knees  and  her  oval  chin  in  her  hands. 

"I  wish  you  would  do  me  a  favor,"  she  said,  after  a  re- 
flective pause. 

"Let  me  know  what  it  is  and  it  shall  be  done,"  replied 
Eenshaw  quickly. 

"If  you  should  come  across  Monsieur  de  Ferrieres,  or 
hear  of  him,  I  wish  you  would  let  me  know.  He  was 
very  poorly  when  he  left  here,  and  I  should  like  to  know 
if  he  is  better.  He  did  n't  say  where  he  was  going.  At 
least,  he  didn't  tell  father;  but  I  fancy  he  and  father  don't 
ie." 
I  shall  be  very  glad  of  having  even  that  opportunity 


272  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

of  making  you  remember  me,  Miss  Nott,"  returned  Een- 
shaw,  with  a  faint  smile.  "I  don't  suppose  either  that 
it  would  be  very  difficult  to  get  news  of  your  friend  — 
everybody  seems  to  know  him." 

"But  not  as  I  did,"  said  Eosey,  with  an  abstracted  little 


Mr.  Eenshaw  opened  his  brown  eyes  upon  her.  Was 
he  mistaken  1  Was  this  romantic  girl  only  a  little  coquette 
playing  her  provincial  airs  on  him?  "You  say  he  and 
your  father  didn't  agree?  That  means,  I  suppose,  that 
you  and  he  agreed?  —  and  that  was  the  result." 

"I  don't  think  father  knew  anything  about  it,"  said 
Kosey  simply. 

Mr.  Eenshaw  rose.  And  this  was  what  he  had  been 
waiting  to  hear!  "Perhaps,"  he  said  grimly,  "you  would 
also  like  news  of  the  photographer  and  Captain  Bower,  or 
did  your  father  agree  with  them  better  ? " 

"No,"  said  Eosey  quietly.  She  remained  silent  for  a 
moment,  and,  lifting  her  lashes,  said,  "Father  always 
seemed  to  agree  with  you,  and  that "  —  she  hesitated. 

"That 's  why  you  don't." 

"I  didn't  say  that,"  said  Eosey,  with  an  incongruous 
increase  of  coldness  and  color.  "I  only  meant  to  say  it 
was  that  which  makes  it  seem  so  hard  you  should  go  now. " 

Notwithstanding  his  previous  determination  Eenshaw 
found  himself  sitting  down  again.  Confused  and  pleased, 
wishing  he  had  said  more  —  or  less  —  he  said  nothing,  and 
Eosey  was  forced  to  continue. 

"It's  strange,  isn't  it  —  but  father  was  urging  me  this 
morning  to  make  a  visit  to  some  friends  at  the  old  Eanch. 
I  didn't  want  to  go.  I  like  it  much  better  here." 

"But  you  cannot  bury  yourself  here  forever,  Miss  Nott," 
said  Eenshaw,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  honest  enthusiasm. 
"  Sooner  or  later  you  will  be  forced  to  go  where  you  will 
be  properly  appreciated,  where  you  will  be  admired  and 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  273 

courted,  where  your  slightest  wish  will  be  law.      Believe 
me,  without  flattery,  you  don't  know  your  own  power." 

"It  doesn't  seem  strong  enough  to  keep  even  the  little 
I  like  here,"  said  Eosey,  with  a  slight  glistening  of  the 
eyes.  "But,"  she  added  hastily,  "you  don't  know  how 
much  the  dear  old  ship  is  to  me.  It 's  the  only  home 
I  think  I  ever  had." 

"But  the  Eanch? "  said  Eenshaw. 

"The  Eanch  seemed  to  be  only  the  old  wagon  halted  in 
the  road.  It  was  a  very  little  improvement  on  outdoors," 
said  Eosey,  with  a  little  shiver.  "  But  this  is  so  cosy  and 
snug,  and  yet  so  strange  and  foreign.  Do  you  know  I 
think  I  began  to  understand  why  I  like  it  so  since  you 
taught  me  so  much  about  ships  and  voyages.  Before  that 
I  only  learned  from  books.  Books  deceive  you,  I  think 
more  than  people  do.  Don't  you  think  so? " 

She  evidently  did  not  notice  the  quick  flush  that  cov- 
ered his  cheeks  and  apparently  dazzled  his  troubled  eyelids, 
for  she  went  on  confidentially :  — 

"I  was  thinking  of  you  yesterday.  I  was  sitting  by  the 
galley  door,  looking  forward.  You  remember  the  first 
day  I  saw  you  when  you  startled  me  by  coming  up  out  of 
the  hatch?" 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  think  of  that,"  said  Eenshaw, 
with  more  earnestness  than  he  would  have  made  apparent. 

"I  don't  want  to,  either,"  said  Eosey  gravely,  "for 
I  've  had  a  strange  fancy  about  it.  I  saw  once,  when  I  was 
younger,  a  picture  in  a  print  shop  in  Montgomery  Street 
that  haunted  me.  I  think  it  was  called  '  The  Pirate. ' 
There  were  a  number  of  wicked-looking  sailors  lying  around 
the  deck,  and  coming  out  of  the  hatch  was  one  figure,  with 
his  hands  on  the  deck  and  a  cutlass  in  his  mouth." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Eenshaw. 

"You  don't  understand.  He  was  horrid-looking,  not  at 
all  like  you.  I  never  thought  of  him  when  I  first  saw 


274  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

you;  but  the  other  day  I  thought  how  dreadful  it  would 
have  been  if  some  one  like  him  and  not  like  you  had  come 
up  then.  That  made  me  nervous  sometimes  of  being  alone. 
I  think  father  is  too.  He  often  goes  about  stealthily  at 
night,  as  if  he  was  watching  for  something." 

Eenshaw's  face  grew  suddenly  dark.  Could  it  be  pos- 
sible that  Sleight  had  always  suspected  him,  and  set  spies 
to  watch  —  or  was  he  guilty  of  some  double  intrigue  ? 

"He  thinks,"  continued  Eosey,  with  a  faint  smile, 
"that  some  one  is  looking  round  the  ship,  and  talks  of  set- 
ting bear- traps.  I  hope  you  're  not  mad,  Mr.  Eenshaw," 
she  added,  suddenly  catching  sight  of  his  changed  expres- 
sion, "at  my  foolishness  in  saying  you  reminded  me  of  the 
pirate.  I  meant  nothing." 

"I  know  you're  incapable  of  meaning  anything  but 
good  to  anybody,  Miss  Nott,  perhaps  to  me  more  than  I 
deserve,"  said  Eenshaw,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  feeling. 
"I  wish  —  I  wish  —  you  would  do  me  a  favor.  You 
asked  me  one  just  now."  He  had  taken  her  hand.  It 
seemed  so  like  a  mere  illustration  of  his  earnestness,  that 
she  did  not  withdraw  it.  "Your  father  tells  you  every- 
thing. If  he  has  any  offer  to  dispose  of  the  ship,  will  you 
write  to  me  at  once  before  anything  is  concluded  ? "  He 
winced  a  little  — the  sentence  of  Sleight,  "What's  the 
figure  you  and  she  have  settled  on  ? "  flashed  across  his 
mind.  He  scarcely  noticed  that  Eosey  had  withdrawn  her 
hand  coldly. 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  speak  to  father,  as  it  is  his 
business.  Besides,  I  shall  not  be  here.  I  shall  be  at  the 
Eanch." 

"But  you  said  you  didn't  want  to  go." 

"I've  changed  my  mind,"  said  Eosey  listlessly.  "I 
shall  go  to-night." 

She  rose  as  if  to  indicate  that  the  interview  was  ended. 
With  an  overpowering  instinct  that  his  whole  future  happi- 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  275 

ness  depended  upon  his  next  act,  he  made  a  step  towards 
her,  with  eager,  outstretched  hands.  But  she  slightly  lifted 
her  own  with  a  warning  gesture.  "  I  hear  father  coming  — 
you  will  have  a  chance  to  talk  business  with  him,"  she 
said,  and  vanished  into  her  stateroom. 

VI 

The  heavy  tread  of  Abner  Nott  echoed  in  the  passage. 
Confused  and  embarrassed,  Renshaw  remained  standing  at 
the  door  that  had  closed  upon  Rosey  as  her  father  entered 
the  cabin.  Providence,  which  always  fostered  Mr.  Nott's 
characteristic  misconceptions,  left  that  perspicacious  parent 
but  one  interpretation  of  the  situation.  Rosey  had  evi- 
dently just  informed  Mr.  Renshaw  that  she  loved  another! 

"I  was  just  saying  good-by  to  Miss  Nbtt,"  said  Ren- 
shaw,  hastily  regaining  his  composure  with  an  effort.  "I 
am  going  to  Sacramento  to-night,  and  will  not  return. 
I"  — 

"In  course,  in  course,"  interrupted  Nott  soothingly; 
"that 's  wot  you  say  now,  and  that 's  wot  you  allow  to  do. 
That 's  wot  they  allus  do." 

"I  mean,"  said  Renshaw,  reddening  at  what  he  con- 
ceived to  be  an  allusion  to  the  absconding  propensities  of 
Nott's  previous  tenants, — "I  mean  that  you  shall  keep 
the  advance  to  cover  any  loss  you  might  suffer  through  my 
giving  up  the  rooms." 

"Certingly,"  said  Nott,  laying  his  hand  with  a  large 
sympathy  on  Renshaw's  shoulder;  "but  we'll  drop  that 
just  now.  We  won't  swap  bosses  in  the  middle  of  the 
river.  We  '11  square  up  accounts  in  your  room, "  he  added, 
raising  his  voice  that  Rosey  might  overhear  him,  after  a 
preliminary  wink  at  the  young  man.  "  Yes,  sir,  we  '11 
just  square  up  and  settle  in  there.  Come  along,  Mr.  Ren- 
shaw." Pushing  him  with  paternal  gentleness  from  the 
cabin,  with  his  hand  still  upon  his  shoulder,  he  followed 


2.76  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

him  into  the  passage.  Half  annoyed  at  his  familiarity, 
yet  not  altogether  displeased  by  this  illustration  of  Rosey's 
belief  of  his  preference,  Renshaw  wonderingly  accompanied 
him.  Nott  closed  the  door,  and  pushing  the  young  man  into 
a  chair,  deliberately  seated  himself  at  the  table  opposite. 
"It 's  jist  as  well  that  Rosey  reckons  that  you  and  me  is 
settlin'  our  accounts,"  he  began  cunningly,  "and  mebbe 
it 's  just  ez  well  ez  she  should  reckon  you  're  goin'  away." 

"But  I  am  going,"  interrupted  Renshaw  impatiently. 
"I  leave  to-night." 

"Surely,  surely,"  said  Nott  gently,  "that's  wot  you 
kalkilate  to  do;  that's  just  nat'ral  in  a  young  feller. 
That 's  about  what  I  reckon  I'd  hev  done  to  her  mother  if 
any  thin'  like  this  hed  ever  cropped  up,  which  it  did  n't. 
Not  but  what  Almiry  Jane  had  young  fellers  enough  round 
her,  but,  'cept  ole  Judge  Peter,  ez  was  lamed  in  the  War 
of  1812,  there  ain't  no  similarity  ez  I  kin  see,"  he  added 
musingly. 

"I  am  afraid  I  can't  see  any  similarity  either,  Mr. 
Nott,"  said  Renshaw,  struggling  between  a  dawning  sense 
of  some  impending  absurdity  and  his  growing  passion  for 
Rosey.  "For  Heaven's  sake,  speak  out  if  you  've  got  any- 
thing to  say." 

Mr.  Nott  leaned  forward  and  placed  his  large  hand  on 
the  young  man's  shoulder.  "That's  it.  That's  what  I 
sed  to  myself  when  I  seed  how  things  were  pintin'.  '  Speak 
out,'  sez  I,  '  Abner!  Speak  out  if  you  've  got  anything  to 
say.  You  kin  trust  this  yer  Mr.  Renshaw.  He  ain't  the 
kind  of  man  to  creep  into  the  bosom  of  a  man's  ship  for 
pupposes  of  his  own.  He  ain't  a  man  that  would  hunt 
round  until  he  discovered  a  poor  man's  treasure,  and  then 
try  to  rob  '  "  — 

"  Stop ! "  said  Renshaw,  with  a  set  face  and  darkening 
eyes.  "  What  treasure  ?  what  man  .are  you  speaking  of  1 " 

"Why  Rosey  and  Mr.  Ferrers,"  returned  Nott  simply. 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  277 

Kenshaw  sank  into  his  seat  again.  But  the  expression 
of  relief  which  here  passed  swiftly  over  his  face  gave  way 
to  one  of  uneasy  interest  as  Nott  went  on. 

"PVaps  it's  a  little  highfalutin'  talkin'  of  Rosey  ez  a 
treasure.  But  considering  Mr.  Renshaw,  ez  she  's  the  only 
prop'ty  I  've  kept  by  me  for  seventeen  years  ez  hez  paid 
interest  and  increased  in  valoo,  it  ain't  sayin'  too  much 
to  call  her  so.  And  ez  Ferrers  knows  this,  he  oughter 
been  content  with  gougin'  me  in  that  horsehair  spec, 
without  goin'  for  Rosey.  P'r'aps  yer  surprised  at  hearing 
me  speak  o'  my  own  flesh  and  blood  ez  if  I  was  talkin' 
boss-trade,  but  you  and  me  is  bus'ness  men,  Mr.  Renshaw, 
and  we  discusses  ez  such.  We  ain't  goin'  to  slosh 
round  and  slop  over  in  po'try  and  sentiment,"  continued 
Nott,  with  a  tremulous  voice,  and  a  hand  that  slightly 
shook  on  Renshaw's  shoulder.  "We  ain't  goin'  to  git  up 
and  sing,  '  Thou  'st  larned  to  love  another  thou  'st  broken 
every  vow  we  've  parted  from  each  other  and  my  bosom  's 
lonely  now  oh  is  it  well  to  sever  such  hearts  as  ourn  for- 
ever kin  I  forget  thee  never  farewell  farewell  farewell.' 
Ye  never  happened  to  hear  Jim  Baker  sing  that  at  the 
moosic  hall  on  Dupont  Street,  Mr.  Renshaw,"  continued 
Mr.  Nott  enthusiastically,  when  he  had  recovered  from 
that  complete  absence  of  punctuation  which  alone  suggested 
verse  to  his  intellect.  "  He  sorter  struck  water  down  here," 
indicating  his  heart,  "every  time." 

"But  what  has  Miss  Nott  to  do  with  M.  de  Ferrieres? " 
asked  Renshaw,  with  a  faint  smile. 

Mr.  !Nott  regarded  him  with  dumb,  round,  astonished 
eyes.  "  Hez  n't  she  told  yer  1" 

"Certainly  not." 

"And  she  didn't  let  on  anythin'  about  him?"  he  con- 
tinued feebly. 

"  She  said  she  'd  like  to  know  where  "  —  He  stopped, 
with  the  reflection  that  he  was  betraying  her  confidences. 


278  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

A  dim  foreboding  of  some  new  form  of  deceit,  to  which 
even  the  man  before  him  was  a  consenting  party,  almost 
paralyzed  Nott's  faculties.  "Then  she  didn't  tell  yer  that 
she  and  Ferrers  was  sparkin'  and  keepin'  kimpany  to- 
gether; that  she  and  him  was  engaged,  and  was  kalkilatin' 
to  run  way  to  furrin  parts;  that  she  cottoned  to  him  more 
than  to  the  ship  or  her  father  1 " 

"She  certainly  did  not,  and  I  shouldn't  believe  it,"  said 
Eenshaw  quickly. 

Nott  smiled.  He  was  amused;  he  astutely  recognized 
the  usual  trustfulness  of  love  and  youth.  There  was 
clearly  no  deceit  here !  Eenshaw 's  attentive  eyes  saw  the 
smile,  and  his  brow  darkened. 

"I  like  to  hear  yer  say  that,  Mr.  Eenshaw,"  said  Nott^ 
"and  it 's  no  more  than  Kosey  deserves,  ez  it 's  suthing  on. 
nat'ral  and  spell-like  that 's  come  over  her  through  Ferrers. 
It  ain't  my  Kosey.  But  it 's  Gospel  truth,  whether  she's 
bewitched  or  not;  whether  it's  them  damn  fool  stories 
she  reads  —  and  it 's  like  ez  not  he  's  just  the  kind  o' 
snipe  to  write  'em  hisself,  and  sorter  advertise  hisself, 
don't  yer  see  —  she's  allus  stuck  up  for  him.  They've 
had  clandesent  interviews,  and  when  I  taxed  him  with  it 
he  ez  much  ez  allowed  it  was  so,  and  reckoned  he  must 
leave,  so  ez  he  could  run  her  off,  you  know  —  kinder 
stampede  her  with  '  honor.'  Them  's  his  very  words." 

"But  that  is  all  past;  he  is  gone,  and  Miss  Nott  does 
not  even  know  where  he  is !  "  said  Eenshaw,  with  a  laugh, 
which,  however,  concealed  a  vague  uneasiness. 

Mr.  Nott  rose  and  opened  the  door  carefully.  When 
he  had  satisfied  himself  that  no  one  was  listening,  he 
came  back  and  said  in  a  whisper,  "That 's  a  lie.  Not  ez 
Eosey  means  to  lie,  but  it 's  a  trick  he  's  put  upon  that 
poor  child.  That  man,  Mr.  Eenshaw,  hez  been  hangin' 
round  the  Pontiac  ever  since.  I  've  seed  him  twice  with 
my  own  eyes  pass  the  cabin  windys.  More  than  that, 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  279 

I  've  heard  strange  noises  at  night,  and  seen  strange  faces 
in  the  alley  over  yer.  And  only  jist  now  ez  I  kem  in  I 
ketched  sight  of  a  furrin-lookin'  Chinee  nigger  slinking 
round  the  back  door  of  what  useter  be  Ferrers'  loft." 

"Did  he  look  like  a  sailor?"  asked  Renshaw  quickly, 
with  a  return  of  his  former  suspicion. 

"Not  more  than  I  do,"  said  Nott,  glancing  complacently 
at  his  pea-jacket.  "He  had  rings  on  his  yeers  like  a 
wench." 

Mr.  Renshaw  started.  But  seeing  Nott's  eyes  fixed  on 
him,  he  said  lightly,  "But  what  have  these  strange  faces 
and  this  strange  man  —  probably  only  a  Lascar  sailor  out 
of  a  job  —  to  do  with  Ferrieres?  " 

"  Friends  o'  his  —  feller  furrin  citizens  —  spies  on  Rosey, 
don't  you  see?  But  they  can't  play  the  old  man,  Mr. 
Eenshaw.  I  've  told  Eosey  she  must  make  a  visit  to  the 
old  Ranch.  Once  I  've  got  her  thar  safe,  I  reckon  I  kin 
manage  Mr.  Ferrers  and  any  number  of  Chinee  niggers  he 
kin  bring  along." 

Renshaw  remained  for  a  few  moments  lost  in  thought. 
Then  rising  suddenly,  he  grasped  Mr.  Nott's  hand  with 
a  frank  smile  but  determined  eyes.  "I  haven't  got  the 
hang  of  this,  Mr.  Nott  —  the  whole  thing  gets  me !  I 
only  know  that  I  've  changed  my  mind.  I  'm  not  going  to 
Sacramento.  I  shall  stay  here,  old  man,  until  I  see  you 
safe  through  the  business,  or  my  name  's  not  Dick  Ren- 
shaw. There's  my  hand  on  it!  Don't  say  a  word. 
Maybe  it  is  no  more  than  I  ought  to  do  —  perhaps  not  half 
enough.  Only  remember,  not  a  word  of  this  to  your 
daughter.  She  must  believe  that  I  leave  to-night.  And 
the  sooner  you  get  her  out  of  this  cursed  ship  the  better." 

"Deacon  Flint's  girls  are  goin'  up  in  to-night's  boat. 
I'll  send  Rosey  with  them,"  said  Nott,  with  a  cunning 
twinkle.  Renshaw  nodded.  Nott  seized  his  hand  with  a 
wink  of  unutterable  significance. 


280  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

Left  to  himself,  Renshaw  tried  to  review  more  calmly  the 
circumstances  in  these  strange  revelations  that  had  impelled 
him  to  change  his  resolution  so  suddenly.  That  the  ship 
was  under  the  surveillance  of  unknown  parties,  and  that 
the  description  of  them  tallied  with  his  own  knowledge 
of  a  certain  Lascar  sailor  who  was  one  of  Sleight's  inform- 
ants, seemed  to  be  more  than  probable.  That  this  seemed 
to  point  to  Sleight's  disloyalty  to  himself  while  he  was 
acting  as  his  agent,  or  a  double  treachery  on  the  part  of 
Sleight's  informants,  was  in  either  case  a  reason  and  an 
excuse  for  his  own  interference.  But  the  connection  of 
the  absurd  Frenchman  with  the  case,  which  at  first  seemed 
a  characteristic  imbecility  of  his  landlord,  bewildered  him 
the  more  he  thought  of  it.  Rejecting  any  hypothesis  of 
the  girl's  affection  for  the  antiquated  figure  whose  sanity 
was  a  question  of  public  criticism,  he  was  forced  to  the 
equally  alarming  theory  that  Ferrieres  was  cognizant  of  the 
treasure,  and  that  his  attentions  to  Rosey  were  to  gain 
possession  of  it  by  marrying  her.  Might  she  not  be  daz- 
zled by  a  picture  of  this  wealth  1  Was  it  not  possible  that 
she  was  already  in  part  possession  of  the  secret,  and  her 
strange  attraction  to  the  ship,  and  what  he  had  deemed 
her  innocent  craving  for  information  concerning  it,  a  con- 
sequence ?  Why  had  he  not  thought  of  this  before  ?  Per- 
haps she  had  detected  his  purpose  from  the  first,  and  had 
deliberately  checkmated  him.  The  thought  did  not  increase 
his  complacency  as  Nott  softly  returned :  — 

"It's  all  right,"  he  began,  with  a  certain  satisfaction  in 
this  rare  opportunity  for  Machiavelian  diplomacy,  "  it 's 
all  fixed  now.  Rosey  tumbled  to  it  at  once,  partiklerly 
when  I  said  you  was  bound  to  go.  '  But  wot  makes  Mr. 
Renshaw  go,  father, '  sez  she ;  '  wot  makes  everybody  run 
away  from  the  ship  ? '  sez  she,  rather  peart-like  and  sassy 
for  her.  '  Mr.  Renshaw  hez  contractin'  business, '  sez  I ; 
*  got  a  big  thing  up  in  Sacramento  that  '11  make  his  for- 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  281 

tun','  sez  I  —  for  I  wasn't  goin'  to  give  yer  away,  don't  ye 
see  ?  '  He  had  some  business  to  talk  to  you  about  the 
ship,'  sez  she,  lookin'  at  me  under  the  corner  of  her 
pocket-handkerchief.  '  Lots  o'  business, '  sez  I.  '  Then 
I  reckon  he  don't  care  to  hev  me  write  to  him,'  sez  she. 
'Not  a  bit,'  sez  I;  'he  wouldn't  answer  ye  if  ye  did. 
Ye  '11  never  hear  from  that  chap  agin.'  " 

"  But  what  the  devil "  —  interrupted  the  young  man 
impetuously. 

"  Keep  yer  hair  on ! "  remonstrated  the  old  man  with 
dark  intelligence.  "Ef  you'd  seen  the  way  she  flounced 
into  her  stateroom !  —  she,  Eosey,  ez  allus  moves  ez  softly 
ez  a  spirit  —  you  'd  hev  wished  I  'd  hev  unloaded  a  little 
more.  No,  sir,  gals  is  gals  in  some  things  all  the  time." 

Eenshaw  rose  and  paced  the  room  rapidly.  "Perhaps 
I  'd  better  speak  to  her  again  before  she  goes,"  he  said  im- 
pulsively. 

"P'r'aps  you'd  better  not,"  replied  the  imperturbable 
Nott. 

Irritated  as  he  was,  Kenshaw  could  not  avoid  the  reflec- 
tion that  the  old  man  was  right.  What,  indeed,  could  he 
say  to  her  with  his  present  imperfect  knowledge?  How 
could  she  write  to  him  if  that  knowledge  was  correct? 

"Ef,"  said  Nott  kindly,  with  a  laying  on  of  large  bene- 
dictory and  paternal  hands, —  "ef  ye  're  willin'  to  see  Eosey 
agin,  without  speakin'  to  her,  I  reckon  I  ken  fix  it  for 
yer.  I  'm  goin'  to  take  her  down  to  the  boat  in  half  an 
hour.  Ef  yer  should  happen  —  mind,  ef  yer  should  hap- 
pen to  be  down  there,  seein'  some  friends  off  and  sorter 
promenadin'  up  and  down  the  wharf  like  them  high-toned 
chaps  on  Montgomery  Street  —  ye  might  ketch  her  eye  un- 
conscious like.  Or,  ye  might  do  this !  "  He  rose  after  a 
moment's  cogitation  and  with  a  face  of  profound  mystery 
opened  the  door  and  beckoned  Eenshaw  to  follow  him. 
Leading  the  way  cautiously,  he  brought  the  young  man 


282  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

into  an  open  unpartitioned  recess  beside  her  stateroom. 
It  seemed  to  be  used  as  a  storeroom,  and  Renshaw's  eye 
was  caught  by  a  trunk  the  size  and  shape  of  the  one  that 
had  provided  Rosey  with  the  materials  of  her  masquerade. 
Pointing  to  it,  Mr.  Nott  said  in  a  grave  whisper:  "This 
yer  trunk  is  the  companion  trunk  to  Rosey 's.  She  's  got 
the  things  them  opery  women  wears;  this  yer  contains  the 
he  things,  the  duds  and  fixin's  o'  the  men  o'  the  same 
stripe."  Throwing  it  open,  he  continued  :  "Now,  Mr. 
Renshaw,  gals  is  gals;  it 's  nat'ral  they  should  be  took  by 
fancy  dress  and  store  clothes  on  young  chaps  as  on  their- 
selves.  That  man  Ferrers  hez  got  the  dead-wood  on  all  of 
ye  in  this  sort  of  thing,  and  hez  been  playing,  so  to  speak, 
a  lone  hand  all  along.  And  ef  thar  's  any  thin'  in  thar,"  he 
added,  lifting  part  of  a  theatrical  wardrobe,  "that  you 
think  you  'd  fancy  —  anythin'  you  'd  like  to  put  on  when 
ye  promenade  the  wharf  down  yonder  —  it 's  yours.  Don't 
ye  be  bashful,  but  help  yourself." 

It  was  fully  a  minute  before  Renshaw  fairly  grasped  the 
old  man's  meaning.  But  when  he  did  —  when  the  sug- 
gested spectacle  of  himself  arrayed  k  la  Ferrieres,  gravely 
promenading  the  wharf  as  a  last  gorgeous  appeal  to  the 
affections  of  Rosey,  rose  before  his  fancy,  he  gave  way  to 
a  fit  of  genuine  laughter.  The  nervous  tension  of  the  past 
few  hours  relaxed;  he  laughed  until  the  tears  came  into 
his  eyes;  he  was  still  laughing  when  the  door  of  the  cabin 
suddenly  opened  and  Rosey  appeared  cold  and  distant  on 
the  threshold. 

"I  —  beg  your  pardon,"  stammered  Renshaw  hastily. 
"I  did  n't  mean  —  to  disturb  you  —  I  "  — 

Without  looking  at  him  Rosey  turned  to  her  father. 
"I  am  ready,"  she  said  coldly,  and  closed  the  door  again. 

A  glance  of  artful  intelligence  came  into  Nott's  eyes, 
which  had  remained  blankly  staring  at  Renshaw's  ap- 
parently causeless  hilarity.  Turning  to  him  he  winked 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  283 

solemnly.  "That  keerless  kind  o'  hoss-laff  jist  fetched 
her,"  he  whispered,  and  vanished  before  his  chagrined 
companion  could  reply. 

When  Mr.  Nott  and  his  daughter  departed,  Eenshaw 
was  not  in  the  ship,  neither  did  he  make  a  spectacular 
appearance  on  the  wharf  as  Mr.  Nott  had  fondly  expected,, 
nor  did  he  turn  up  again  until  after  nine  o'clock,  when  he 
found  the  old  man  in  the  cabin  awaiting  his  return  with 
some  agitation.  "A  minit  ago,"  he  said,  mysteriously 
closing  the  door  behind  Kenshaw,  "  I  heard  a  voice  in  the 
passage,  and  goin'  out,  who  should  I  see  agin  but  that 
darned  furrin  nigger  ez  I  told  yer  'bout,  kinder  hidin'  in 
the  dark,  his  eyes  shinin'  like  a  catamount.  I  was  jist 
reachin'  for  my  weppins  when  he  riz  up  with  a  grin  and 
handed  me  this  yer  letter.  I  told  him  I  reckoned  you  'd 
gone  to  Sacramento,  but  he  said  he  wez  sure  you  was  in 
your  room,  and  to  prove  it  I  went  thar.  But  when  I  kem 
back  the  d — d  skunk  had  vamosed  —  got  frightened,  I 
reckon  —  and  wasn't  nowhar  to  be  seen." 

Eenshaw  took  the  letter  hastily.  It  contained  only  a 
line  in  Sleight's  hand.  "If  you  change  your  mind,  the 
bearer  may  be  of  service  to  you." 

He  turned  abruptly  to  Nott.  "You  say  it  was  the  same 
Lascar  you  saw  before  1 " 

"It  was." 

"Then  all  I  can  say  is,  he  is  no  agent  of  De  Ferrieres'," 
said  Eenshaw,  turning  away  with  a  disappointed  air.  Mr. 
Nott  would  have  asked  another  question,  but  with  an 
abrupt  "Good-night"  the  young  man  entered  his  room, 
locked  the  door,  and  threw  himself  on  his  bed  to  reflect 
without  interruption. 

But  if  he  was  in  no  mood  to  stand  Nott's  fatuous  con- 
jectures, he  was  less  inclined  to  be  satisfied  with  his 
own.  Had  he  been  again  carried  away  through  his  im- 
pulses evoked  by  the  caprices  of  a  pretty  coquette  and 


284  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

the  absurd  theories  of  her  half-imbecile  father?  Had  ho 
broken  faith  with  Sleight  and  remained  in  the  ship  for 
nothing,  and  would  not  his  change  of  resolution  appear  to 
be  the  result  of  Sleight's  note?  But  why  had  the  Lascar 
been  haunting  the  ship  before?  In  the  midst  of  these 
conjectures  he  fell  asleep. 

VII 

Between  three  and  four  in  the  morning  the  clouds  broke 
over  the  Pontiac;  and  the  moon,  riding  high,  picked  out 
in  black  and  silver  the  long  hulk  that  lay  cradled  between 
the  iron  shells  and  warehouses  and  the  wooden  frames  and 
tenements  on  either  side.  The  galley  and  covered  gang- 
way presented  a  mass  of  undefined  shadow,  against  which 
the  white  deck  shone  brightly,  stretching  to  the  forecastle 
and  bows,  where  the  tiny  glass  roof  of  the  photographer 
glistened  like  a  gem  in  the  Pontiac' s  crest.  So  peaceful 
and  motionless  she  lay  that  she  might  have  been  some 
petrifaction  of  a  past  age  now  first  exhumed  and  laid  bare 
to  the  cold  light  of  the  stars. 

Nevertheless,  this  calm  security  was  presently  invaded 
by  a  sense  of  stealthy  life  and  motion.  What  had  seemed 
a  fixed  shadow  suddenly  detached  itself  from  the  deck  and 
began  to  slip  stanchion  by  stanchion  along  the  bulwarks 
toward  the  companionway.  At  the  cabin  door  it  halted 
and  crouched  motionless.  Then  rising,  it  glided  forward 
with  the  same  staccato  movement  until  opposite  the  slight 
elevation  of  the  fore  hatch.  Suddenly  it  darted  to  the 
hatch,  unfastened  and  lifted  it  with  a  swift,  familiar  dex- 
terity, and  disappeared  in  the  opening.  But  as  the  moon 
shone  upon  its  vanishing  face,  it  revealed  the  whitening 
eyes  and  teeth  of  the  Lascar  seaman. 

Dropping  to  the  lower  deck  lightly,  he  felt  his  way 
through  the  dark  passage  between  the  partitions,  evidently 
less  familiar  to  him,  halting  before  each  door  to  listen. 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  285 

Returning  forward  he  reached  the  second  hatchway  that 
had  attracted  Kosey's  attention,  and  noiselessly  unclosed 
its  fastenings.  A  penetrating  smell  of  bilge  arose  from  the 
opening.  Drawing  a  small  bull's-eye  lantern  from  his 
breast  he  lit  it,  and  unhesitatingly  let  himself  down  to  the 
further  depth.  The  moving  flash  of  his  light  revealed  the 
recesses  of  the  upper  hold,  the  abyss  of  the  well  amidships, 
and  glanced  from  the  shining  backs  of  moving  zigzags  of 
rats  that  seemed  to  outline  the  shadowy  beams  and  tran- 
soms. Disregarding  those  curious  spectators  of  his  move- 
ments, he  turned  his  attention  eagerly  to  the  inner  casings 
of  the  hold,  that  seemed  in  one  spot  to  have  been  strength- 
ened by  fresh  timbers.  Attacking  this  stealthily  with  the 
aid  of  some  tools  hidden  in  his  oilskin  clothing,  in  the 
light  of  the  lantern  he  bore  a  fanciful  resemblance  to  the 
predatory  animals  around  him.  The  low,  continuous  sound 
of  rasping  and  gnawing  of  timber  which  followed  heightened 
the  resemblance.  At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes  he  had 
succeeded  in  removing  enough  of  the  outer  planking  to 
show  that  the  entire  filling  of  the  casing  between  the 
stanchions  was  composed  of  small  boxes.  Dragging  out 
one  of  them  with  feverish  eagerness  to  the  light,  the  Lascar 
forced  it  open.  In  the  rays  of  the  bull's-eye,  a  wedged 
mass  of  discolored  coins  showed  with  a  lurid  glow.  The 
story  of  the  Pontiac  was  true  —  the  treasure  was  there ! 

But  Mr.  Sleight  had  overlooked  the  logical  effect  of  this 
discovery  on  the  natural  villainy  of  his  tool.  In  the  very 
moment  of  his  triumphant  execution  of  his  patron's  sug- 
gestions the  idea  of  keeping  the  treasure  to  himself  flashed 
upon  his  mind.  He  had  discovered  it  —  why  should  he 
give  it  up  to  anybody?  He  had  run  all  the  risks;  if  he 
were  detected  at  that  moment,  who  would  believe  that  his 
purpose  there  at  midnight  was  only  to  satisfy  some  one 
else  that  the  treasure  was  still  intact?  No.  The  circum- 
stances were  propitious;  he  would  get  the  treasure  out  of 


286  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

the  ship  at  once,  drop  it  over  her  side,  hastily  conceal  it 
in  the  nearest  lot  adjacent,  and  take  it  away  at  his  con- 
venience. Who  would  be  the  wiser  for  it? 

But  it  was  necessary  to  reconnoitre  first.  He  knew  that 
the  loft  overhead  was  empty.  He  knew  that  it  communi- 
cated with  the  alley,  for  he  had  tried  the  door  that  morning. 
He  would  convey  the  treasure  there  and  drop  it  into  the 
alley.  The  boxes  were  heavy.  Each  one  would  require  a 
separate  journey  to  the  ship's  side,  but  he  would  at  least 
secure  something  if  he  were  interrupted.  He  stripped  the 
casing,  and  gathered  the  boxes  together  in  a  pile. 

Ah,  yes,  it  was  funny  too  that  he  —  the  Lascar  hound 
—  the  d — d  nigger  —  should  get  what  bigger  and  bullier 
men  than  he  had  died  for!  The  mate's  blood  was  on 
those  boxes,  if  the  salt  water  had  not  washed  it  out.  It 
was  a  hell  of  a  fight  when  they  dragged  the  captain  —  Oh, 
what  was  that?  Was  it  the  splash  of  a  rat  in  the  bilge, 
or  what? 

A  superstitious  terror  had  begun  to  seize  him  at  the 
thought  of  blood.  The  stifling  hold  seemed  again  filled 
with  struggling  figures  he  had  known,  the  air  thick  with 
cries  and  blasphemies  that  he  had  forgotten.  He  rose  to 
his  feet,  and  running  quickly  to  the  hatchway,  leaped  to 
the  deck  above.  All  was  quiet.  The  door  leading  to  the 
empty  loft  yielded  to  his  touch.  He  entered,  and,  gliding 
through,  unbarred  and  opened  the  door  that  gave  upon  the 
alley.  The  cold  air  and  moonlight  flowed  in  silently;  the 
way  of  escape  was  clear.  Bah!  He  would  go  back  for 
the  treasure. 

He  had  reached  the  passage  when  the  door  he  had  just 
opened  was  suddenly  darkened.  Turning  rapidly,  he  Avas 
conscious  of  a  gaunt  figure,  grotesque,  silent,  and  erect, 
looming  on  the  threshold  between  him  and  the  sky.  Hid- 
den in  the  shadow,  he  made  a  stealthy  step  towards  it, 
with  an  iron  wrench  in  his  uplifted  hand.  But  the  next 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  287 

moment  his  eyes  dilated  with  superstitious  horror ;  the  iron 
fell  from  his  hand,  and  with  a  scream,  like  a  frightened 
animal,  he  turned  and  fled  into  the  passage.  In  the  first 
access  of  his  blind  terror  he  tried  to  reach  the  deck  above 
through  the  fore  hatch,  but  was  stopped  by  the  sound  of  a 
heavy  tread  overhead.  The  immediate  fear  of  detection 
now  overcame  his  superstition;  he  would  have  even  faced 
the  apparition  again  to  escape  through  the  loft;  but  before 
he  could  return  there,  other  footsteps  approached  rapidly 
from  the  end  of  the  passage  he  would  have  to  traverse. 
There  was  but  one  chance  of  escape  left  now  —  the  f orehold 
he  had  just  quitted.  He  might  hide  there  until  the  alarm 
was  over.  He  glided  back  to  the  hatch,  lifted  it,  and 
closed  it  softly  over  his  head  as  the  upper  hatch  was  simul- 
taneously raised,  and  the  small  round  eyes  of  Abner  Nott 
peered  down  upon  it.  The  other  footsteps  proved  to  be 
Eenshaw's,  but  attracted  by  the  open  door  of  the  loft,  he 
turned  aside  and  entered.  As  soon  as  he  disappeared  Mr. 
Nott  cautiously  dropped  through  the  opening  to  the  deck 
below,  and  going  to  the  other  hatch  through  which  the 
Lascar  had  vanished,  deliberately  refastened  it.  In  a  few 
moments  Eenshaw  returned  with  a  light,  and  found  the 
old  man  sitting  on  the  hatch. 

"The  loft  door  was  open,"  said  Eenshaw.  "There's 
little  doubt  whoever  was  here  escaped  that  way." 

"Surely,"  said  Nbtt.  There  was  a  peculiar  look  of 
Machiavelian  sagacity  in  his  face  which  irritated  Eenshaw. 

"  Then  you  're  sure  it  was  Ferrieres  you  saw  pass  by 
your  window  before  you  called  me  ? "  he  asked. 

Nott  nodded  his  head  with  an  expression  of  infinite  pro- 
fundity. 

"  But  you  say  he  was  going  from  the  ship.  Then  it 
could  not  have  been  he  who  made  the  noise  we  heard  down 
here." 

"  Mebbe  no,  and  mebbe  yes, "  returned  Nott  cautiously. 


288  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

"But  if  he  was  already  concealed  inside  the  ship,  as 
that  open  door,  which  you  say  you  barred  from  the  inside, 
would  indicate,  what  the  devil  did  he  want  with  this  ? " 
said  Kenshaw,  producing  the  monkey-wrench  he  had  picked 
up. 

Mr.  Nott  examined  the  tool  carefully,  and  shook  his 
head  with  momentous  significance.  Nevertheless,  his  eyes 
wandered  to  the  hatch  on  which  he  was  seated. 

"  Did  you  find  anything  disturbed  there  ?  "  said  Ken- 
shaw, following  the  direction  of  his  eye.  "  Was  that  hatch 
fastened  as  it  is  now  ? " 

"It  was,"  said  Nott  calmly.  "But  ye  wouldn't  mind 
fetchin'  me  a  hammer  and  some  o'  them  big  nails  from  the 
locker,  would  yer,  while  I  hang  round  here  just  so  ez  to 
make  sure  against  another  attack." 

Eenshaw  complied  with  his  request;  but  as  Nott  pro- 
ceeded to  gravely  nail  down  the  fastenings  of  the  hatch, 
he  turned  impatiently  away  to  complete  his  examination 
of  the  ship.  The  doors  of  the  other  lofts  and  their  fasten- 
ings appeared  secure  and  undisturbed.  Yet  it  was  undeni- 
able that  a  felonious  entrance  had  been  made,  but  by  whom 
or  for  what  purpose  still  remained  uncertain.  Even  now 
Eenshaw  found  it  difficult  to  accept  Nott's  theory  that  De 
Ferrieres  was  the  aggressor  and  Kosey  the  object,  nor  could 
he  justify  his  own  suspicion  that  the  Lascar  had  obtained 
a  surreptitious  entrance  under  Sleight's  directions.  With 
a  feeling  that  if  Eosey  had  been  present  he  would  have 
confessed  all,  and  demanded  from  her  an  equal  confidence, 
he  began  to  hate  his  feeble,  purposeless,  and  inefficient  al- 
liance with  her  father,  who  believed  but  dared  not  tax  his 
daughter  with  complicity  in  this  outrage.  What  could  be 
done  with  a  man  whose  only  idea  of  action  at  such  a  mo- 
ment was  to  nail  up  an  undisturbed  entrance  in  his  invaded 
house!  He  was  so  preoccupied  with  these  thoughts  that 
when  Nott  rejoined  him  in  the  cabin  he  scarcely  heeded 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  289 

his  presence,  and  was  entirely  oblivious  of  the  furtive  looks 
which  the  old  man  from  time  to  time  cast  upon  his  face. 

"I  reckon  ye  wouldn't  mind,"  broke  in  Nott  sud- 
denly, "ef  I  asked  a  favor  of  ye,  Mr.  Eenshaw.  Mebbe 
ye  '11  allow  it 's  askin'  too  much  in  the  matter  of  expense; 
mebbe  ye  '11  allow  it 's  askin'  too  much  in  the  matter  o' 
time.  But  /  kalkilate  to  pay  all  the  expense,  and  if 
you  'd  let  me  know  what  yer  vally  yer  time  at  I  reckon  I 
could  stand  that.  What  I  'd  be  askin'  is  this.  Would  ye 
mind  takin'  a  letter  from  me  to  Eosey  and  bringin'  back 
an  answer  ? " 

Eenshaw  stared  speechlessly  at  this  absurd  realization  of 
his  wish  of  a  moment  before.  "I  don't  think  I  under- 
stand you,"  he  stammered. 

"P'r'aps  not,"  returned  Nott,  with  great  gravity. 
"But  that 's  not  so  much  matter  to  you  ez  your  time  anc> 
expenses. " 

"I  meant  I  should  be  glad  to  go  if  I  can  be  of  any  set-, 
vice  to  you,"  said  Eenshaw  hastily. 

"You  kin  ketch  the  seven  o'clock  boat  this  morning, 
and  you  '11  reach  San  Eafael  at  ten  "  — 

"But  I  thought  Miss  Eosey  went  to  Petaluma, "  inter- 
rupted Eenshaw  quickly. 

Nott  regarded  him  with  an  expression  of  patronizing 
superiority.  "That's  what  we  ladled  out  to  the  public 
gin'rally,  and  to  Ferrers  and  his  gang  in  partickler.  We 
said  Petalumey,  but  if  you  go  to  Madrono  Cottage,  San 
Eafael,  you  '11  find  Eosey  thar." 

If  Mr.  Eenshaw  required  anything  more  to  convince  him 
of  the  necessity  of  coming  to  some  understanding  with 
Eosey  at  once,  it  would  have  been  this  last  evidence  of  her 
father's  utterly  dark  and  supremely  inscrutable  designs. 
He  assented  quickly,  and  Nott  handed  him  a  note. 

"Ye  '11  be  partickler  to  give  this  inter  her  own  hands, 
and  wait  for  an  answer,"  said  Nott  gravely. 


290  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

Resisting  the  proposition  to  enter  then  and  there  into  an 
elaborate  calculation  of  the  value  of  his  time  and  the  ex- 
penses of  the  trip,  Renshaw  found  himself  at  seven  o'clock 
on  the  San  Rafael  boat.  Brief  as  was  the  journey,  it 
gave  him  time  to  reflect  upon  his  coming  interview  with 
Rosey.  He  had  resolved  to  begin  by  confessing  all;  the 
attempt  of  last  night  had  released  him  from  any  sense  of 
duty  to  Sleight.  Besides,  he  did  not  doubt  that  Nott's  let- 
ter contained  some  reference  to  this  affair  only  known  to 
Nott's  dark  and  tortuous  intelligence. 

vin 

Madrono  Cottage  lay  at  the  entrance  of  a  little  Canada 
already  green  with  the  early  winter  rains,  and  nestled  in  a 
thicket  of  the  harlequin  painted  trees  that  gave  it  a  name. 
The  young  man  was  a  little  relieved  to  find  that  Rosey  had 
gone  to  the  post-office  a  mile  away,  and  that  he  would 
probably  overtake  her  or  meet  her  returning  —  alone.  The 
road  —  little  more  than  a  trail  —  wound  along  the  crest  of 
the  hill  looking  across  the  Canada  to  the  long,  dark, 
heavily  wooded  flank  of  Mount  Tamalpais  that  rose  from 
the  valley  a  dozen  miles  away.  A  cessation  of  the  warm 
rain,  a  rift  in  the  sky,  and  the  rare  spectacle  of  cloud 
scenery,  combined  with  a  certain  sense  of  freedom,  re- 
stored that  light-hearted  gayety  that  became  him  most. 
At  a  sudden  turn  of  the  road  he  caught  sight  of  Rosey 's 
figure  coming  towards  him,  and  quickened  his  step  with 
the  impulsiveness  of  a  boy.  But  she  suddenly  disap- 
peared, and  when  he  again  saw  her  she  was  on  the  other 
side  of  the  trail,  apparently  picking  the  leaves  of  a  man- 
zanita.  She  had  already  seen  him. 

Somehow  the  frankness  of  his  greeting  was  checked.  She 
looked  up  at  him  with  cheeks  that  retained  enough  of  their 
color  to  suggest  why  she  had  hesitated,  and  said,  "  You 
here,  Mr.  Renshaw  ?  I  thought  you  were  in  Sacramento. " 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  291 

"And  I  thought  you  were  in  Petaluma,"  he  retorted 
gayly.  "  I  have  a  letter  from  your  father.  The  fact  is, 
one  of  those  gentlemen  who  have  been  haunting  the  ship 
actually  made  an  entry  last  night.  Who  he  was,  and 
what  he  came  for,  nobody  knows.  Perhaps  your  father 
gives  you  his  suspicions."  He  could  not  help  looking  at 
her  narrowly  as  he  handed  her  the  note.  Except  that  her 
pretty  eyebrows  were  slightly  raised  in  curiosity  she  seemed 
undisturbed  as  she  opened  the  letter.  Presently  she  raised 
her  eyes  to  his. 

"  Is  this  all  father  gave  you  ?  " 

"All." 

"You  're  sure  you  have  n't  dropped  anything?  " 

"Nothing.      I  have  given  you  all  he  gave  me." 

"And  that  is  all  it  is."  She  exhibited  the  missive,  a 
perfectly  blank  sheet  of  paper  folded  like  a  note ! 

Renshaw  felt  the  angry  blood  glow  in  his  cheeks. 
"  This  is  unpardonable !  I  assure  you,  Miss  Nott,  there 
must  be  some  mistake.  He  himself  has  probably  forgotten 
the  inclosure, "  he  continued,  yet  with  an  inward  conviction 
that  the  act  was  perfectly  premeditated  on  the  part  of  the 
old  man. 

The  young  girl  held  out  her  hand  frankly.  "Don't 
think  any  more  of  it,  Mr.  Renshaw.  Father  is  forgetful 
at  times.  But  tell  me  about  last  night." 

In  a  few  words  Mr.  Renshaw  briefly  but  plainly  related 
the  details  of  the  attempt  upon  the  Pontiac,  from  the  mo- 
ment that  he  had  been  awakened  by  Nott,  to  his  discovery 
of  the  unknown  trespasser's  flight  by  the  open  door  to  the 
loft.  When  he  had  finished,  he  hesitated,  and  then,  tak- 
ing Rosey's  hand,  said  impulsively,  "You  will  not  be 
angry  with  me  if  I  tell  you  all  ?  Your  father  firmly  be- 
lieves that  the  attempt  was  made  by  the  old  Frenchman, 
De  Ferrieres,  with  a  view  of  carrying  you  off." 

A  dozen  reasons  other  than  the  one  her  father  would 


292  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

have  attributed  it  to  might  have  called  the  hlood  to  her 
face.  But  only  innocence  could  have  brought  the  look  of 
astonished  indignation  to  her  eyes  as  she  answered 
quickly :  — 

"  So  that  was  what  you  were  laughing  at  ?  " 

"Not  that,  Miss  Nott,"  said  the  young  man  eagerly; 
"though  I  wish  to  God  I  could  accuse  myself  of  nothing 
more  disloyal.  Do  not  speak,  I  beg,"  he  added  impa- 
tiently, as  Eosey  was  about  to  reply.  "I  have  no  right 
to  hear  you;  I  have  no  right  to  even  stand  in  your  pre- 
sence until  I  have  confessed  everything.  I  came  to  the 
Pontiac;  I  made  your  acquaintance,  Miss  Nott,  through  a 
fraud  as  wicked  as  anything  your  father  charges  to  De 
Ferrieres.  I  am  not  a  contractor.  I  never  was  an  honest 
lodger  in  the  Pontiac.  I  was  simply  a  spy." 

"But  you  didn't  mean  to  be  —  it  was  some  mistake, 
wasn't  it?  "  said  Eosey,  quite  white,  but  more  from  sym- 
pathy with  the  offender's  emotion  than  horror  at  the 
offense. 

"I  am  afraid  I  did  mean  it.  But  bear  with  me  for  a 
few  moments  longer  and  you  shall  know  all.  It 's  a  long 
story.  Will  you  walk  on,  and  —  take  my  arm  ?  You  do 
not  shrink  from  me,  Miss  Nott.  Thank  you.  I  scarcely 
deserve  the  kindness." 

Indeed  so  little  did  Eosey  shrink  that  he  was  conscious 
of  a  slight  reassuring  pressure  on  his  arm  as  they  moved 
forward,  and  for  the  moment  I  fear  the  young  man  felt 
like  exaggerating  his  offense  for  the  sake  of  proportionate 
sympathy.  "Do  you  remember,"  he  continued,  "one 
evening  when  I  told  you  some  sea  tales,  you  said  you  al- 
ways thought  there  must  be  some  story  about  the  Pontiac  ? 
There  was  a  story  of  the  Pontiac,  Miss  Nott  —  a  wicked 
story  —  a  terrible  story  —  which  I  might  have  told  you, 
which  I  ought  to  have  told  you  —  which  was  the  story 
that  brought  me  there.  You  were  right,  too,  in  saying 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  293 

that  you  thought  I  had  known  the  Pontiac  "before  I  stepped 
first  on  her  deck  that  day.  I  had." 

He  laid  his  disengaged  hand  across  lightly  on  Kosey's, 
as  if  to  assure  himself  that  she  was  listening. 

"I  was  at  that  time  a  sailor.  I  had  been  fool  enough 
to  run  away  from  college,  thinking  it  a  fine  romantic  thing 
to  ship  hefore  the  mast  for  a  voyage  round  the  world.  I 
was  a  little  disappointed,  perhaps,  but  I  made  the  best  of 
it,  and  in  two  years  I  was  the  second  mate  of  a  whaler 
lying  in  a  little  harbor  of  one  of  the  uncivilized  islands  of 
the  Pacific.  While  we  were  at  anchor  there  a  French  trad- 
ing-vessel put  in,  apparently  for  water.  She  had  the  dregs 
of  a  mixed  crew  of  Lascars  and  Portuguese,  who  said  they 
had  lost  the  rest  of  their  men  by  desertion,  and  that  the 
captain  and  mate  had  been  carried  off  by  fever.  There 
was  something  so  queer  in  their  story  that  our  skipper  took 
the  law  in  his  own  hands,  and  put  me  on  board  of  her 
with  a  salvage  crew.  But  that  night  the  French  crew 
mutinied,  cut  the  cables,  and  would  have  got  to  sea  if  we 
had  not  been  armed  and  prepared,  and  managed  to  drive 
them  below.  When  we  had  got  them  under  hatches  for  a 
few  hours  they  parleyed,  and  offered  to  go  quietly  ashore. 
As  we  were  short  of  hands  and  unable  to  take  them  with 
us,  and  as  we  had  no  evidence  against  them,  we  let  them 
go,  took  the  ship  to  Callao,  turned  her  over  to  the  authori- 
ties, lodged  a  claim  for  salvage,  and  continued  our  voyage. 
When  we  returned  we  found  the  truth  of  the  story  was 
known.  She  had  been  a  French  trader  from  Marseilles, 
owned  by  her  captain ;  her  crew  had  mutinied  in  the  Pacific, 
killed  their  officers  and  the  only  passenger  —  the  owner  of 
the  cargo.  They  had  made  away  with  the  cargo  and  a 
treasure  of  nearly  half  a  million  of  Spanish  gold  for  trad- 
ing purposes  which  belonged  to  the  passenger.  In  course 
of  time  the  ship  was  sold  for  salvage  and  put  into  the 
South  American  trade  until  the  breaking  out  of  the  Cali- 


294  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

fornian  gold  excitement  when  she  was  sent  with  a  cargo  to 
San  Francisco.  That  ship  was  the  Pontiac,  which  your 
father  bought." 

A  slight  shudder  ran  through  the  girl's  frame.  "I 
wish  —  I  wish  you  hadn't  told  me,"  she  said.  "I  shall 
never  close  my  eyes  again  comfortably  on  board  of  her,  I 
know." 

"I  would  say  that  you  had  purified  her  of  all  stains  of 
her  past  —  but  there  may  be  one  that  remains.  And  that 
in  most  people's  eyes  would  be  no  detraction.  You  look 
puzzled,  Miss  Nott  —  but  I  am  coming  to  the  explanation 
and  the  end  of  my  story.  A  ship  of  war  was  sent  to  the 
island  to  punish  the  mutineers  and  pirates,  for  such  they 
were,  but  they  could  not  be  found.  A  private  expedition 
was  sent  to  discover  the  treasure  which  they  were  supposed 
to  have  buried,  but  in  vain.  About  two  months  ago  Mr. 
Sleight  told  me  one  of  his  shipmasters  had  sent  him  a 
Lascar  sailor  who  had  to  dispose  of  a  valuable  secret  re- 
garding the  Pontiac  for  a  percentage.  That  secret  was  that 
the  treasure  was  never  taken  by  the  mutineers  out  of  the 
Pontiac!  They  were  about  to  land  and  bury  it  when  we 
boarded  them.  They  took  advantage  of  their  imprison- 
ment under  hatches  to  bury  it  in  the  ship.  They  hid  it 
in  the  hold  so  securely  and  safely  that  it  was  never  de- 
tected by  us  or  the  Callao  authorities.  I  was  then  asked, 
as  one  who  knew  the  vessel,  to  undertake  a  private  exam- 
ination of  her,  with  a  view  of  purchasing  her  from  your 
father  without  awakening  his  suspicions.  I  assented. 
You  have  my  confession  now,  Miss  Nott.  You  know 
my  crime.  I  am  at  your  mercy;" 

Rosey's  arm  only  tightened  around  his  own.  Her  eyes 
sought  his.  "And  you  didn't  find  anything?  "  she  said. 

The  question  sounded  so  oddly  like  Sleight's  that  Ken- 
shaw  returned  a  little  stiffly :  — 

"I  didn't  look." 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  295 

"Why?"  asked  Rosey  simply. 

"Because,"  stammered  Eenshaw,  with  an  uneasy  con- 
sciousness of  having  exaggerated  his  sentiment,  "it  didn't 
seem  honorable;  it  didn't  seem  fair  to  you." 

"  Oh,  you  silly !  you  might  have  looked  and  told  me. " 

"But,"  said  Eenshaw,  "do  you  think  that  would  have 
been  fair  to  Sleight  ?  " 

"  As  fair  to  him  as  to  us.  For,  don't  you  see,  it  would  n't 
belong  to  any  of  us.  It  would  belong  to  the  friends  or  the 
family  of  the  man  who  lost  it." 

"But  there  were  no  heirs,"  replied  Eenshaw.  "That 
was  proved  by  some  impostor  who  pretended  to  be  his 
brother,  and  libeled  the  Pontiac  at  Callao,  but  the  courts 
decided  he  was  a  lunatic." 

"Then  it  belongs  to  the  poor  pirates  who  risked  their 
own  lives  for  it,  rather  than  to  Sleight,  who  did  nothing." 
She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  resumed  with  en- 
ergy, "I  believe  he  was  at  the  bottom  of  that  attack  last 
night. " 

"I  have  thought  so  too,"  said  Eenshaw. 

"Then  I  must  go  back  at  once,"  she  continued  impul- 
sively. "Father  must  not  be  left  alone." 

"Nor  must  you,"  said  Eenshaw  quickly.  "Do  let  me 
return  with  you,  and  share  with  you  and  your  father  the 
trouble  I  have  brought  upon  you.  Do  not,"  he  added  in  a 
lower  tone,  "deprive  me  of  the  only  chance  of  expiating 
my  offense,  of  making  myself  worthy  your  forgiveness." 

"I  am  sure,"  said  Eosey,  lowering  her  lids  and  half 
withdrawing  her  arm,  —  "I  am  sure  I  have  nothing  to  for- 
give. You  did  not  believe  the  treasure  belonged  to  us  any 
more  than  to  anybody  else,  until  you  knew  me  "  — 

"That  is  true,"  said  the  young  man,  attempting  to  take 
her  hand. 

"I  mean,"  said  Eosey,  blushing,  and  showing  a  dis- 
tracting row  of  little  teeth  in  one  of  her  infrequent  laughs, 


296  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

"oh,  you  know  what  I  mean."  She  withdrew  her  arm 
gently,  and  became  interested  in  the  selection  of  certain 
wayside  bay  leaves  as  they  passed  along.  "All  the  same, 
I  don't  believe  in  this  treasure,"  she  said  abruptly,  as  if 
to  change  the  subject.  "I  don't  believe  it  ever  was  hid- 
den inside  the  Pontiac." 

"That  can  be  easily  ascertained  now,"  said  Eenshaw. 

"But  it 's  a  pity  you  didn't  find  it  out  while  you  were 
about  it,"  said  Eosey.  "It  would  have  saved  so  much 
talk  and  trouble." 

"I  have  told  you  why  I  didn't  search  the  ship,"  re- 
sponded Eenshaw,  with  a  slight  bitterness.  "  But  it  seems 
I  could  only  avoid  being  a  great  rascal  by  becoming  a  great 
fool." 

"You  never  intended  to  be  a  rascal,"  said  Eosey  ear- 
nestly, "and  you  couldn't  be  a  fool,  except  in  heeding 
what  a  silly  girl  says.  I  only  meant  if  you  had  taken  me 
into  your  confidence  it  would  have  been  better." 

"  Might  I  not  say  the  same  to  you  regarding  your  friend, 
the  old  Frenchman  ?  "  returned  Eenshaw.  "  What  if  I 
were  to  confess  to  you  that  I  lately  suspected  him  of  know- 
ing the  secret,  and  of  trying  to  gain  your  assistance  ? " 

Instead  of  indignantly  repudiating  the  suggestion  to  the 
young  man's  great  discomfiture,  Eosey  only  knit  her  pretty 
brows,  and  remained  for  some  moments  silent.  Presently 
she  asked  timidly :  — 

"Do  you  think  it  wrong  to  tell  another  person's  secret 
for  their  own  good  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Eenshaw  promptly. 

"  Then  I  '11  tell  you  Monsieur  de  Ferrieres' !  But  only 
because  I  believe  from  what  you  have  just  said  that  he 
will  turn  out  to  have  some  right  to  the  treasure." 

Then  with  kindling  eyes,  and  a  voice  eloquent  with 
sympathy,  Eosey  told  the  story  of  her  accidental  discovery 
of  De  Ferrieres'  miserable  existence  in  the  loft.  Clothing 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  297 

it  with  the  unconscious  poetry  of  her  fresh,  young  imagi- 
nation, she  lightly  passed  over  his  antique  gallantry  and 
grotesque  weakness,  exalting  only  his  lonely  sufferings  and 
mysterious  wrongs.  Eenshaw  listened,  lost  between  shame 
for  his  late  suspicions  and  admiration  for  her  thoughtful 
delicacy,  until  she  began  to  speak  of  De  Ferrieres'  strange 
allusions  to  the  foreign  papers  in  his  portmanteau.  "I 
think  some  were  law  papers,  and  I  am  almost  certain  I  saw 
the  word  Callao  printed  on  one  of  them." 

"It  may  be  so,"  said  Eenshaw  thoughtfully.  "The  old 
Frenchman  has  always  passed  for  a  harmless,  wandering 
eccentric.  I  hardly  think  public  curiosity  has  ever  even 
sought  to  know  his  name,  much  less  his  history.  But  had 
we  not  better  first  try  to  find  if  there  is  any  property  be- 
fore we  examine  his  claims  to  it  ? " 

"As  you  please,"  said  Eosey,  with  a  slight  pout;  "but 
you  will  find  it  much  easier  to  discover  him  than  his  trea- 
sure. It 's  always  easier  to  find  the  thing  you  're  not  look- 
ing for." 

"Until  you  want  it,"  said  Eenshaw,  with  sudden  grav- 
ity. 

"How  pretty  it  looks  over  there,"  said  Eosey,  turning 
her  conscious  eyes  to  the  opposite  mountain. 

"Very." 

They  had  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  in  the  near 
distance  the  chimney  of  Madrono  Cottage  was  even  now 
visible.  At  the  expected  sight  they  unconsciously  stopped 
—  unconsciously  disappointed.  Eosey  broke  the  embar- 
rassing silence. 

"There's  another  way  home,  but  it's  a  roundabout 
way, "  she  said  timidly. 

"Let  us  take  it,"  said  Eenshaw. 

She  hesitated.  "The  boat  goes  at  four,  and  we  must 
return  to-night." 

"The  more  reason  why  we  should  make  the  most  of  our 


298  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

time  now, "  said  Kenshaw,  with  a  faint  smile.  "  To-morrow 
all  things  may  be  changed;  to-morrow  you  may  find  your- 
self an  heiress,  Miss  Nott.  To-morrow, "  he  added,  with  a 
slight  tremor  in  his  voice,  "I  may  have  earned  your  for- 
giveness, only  to  say  farewell  to  you  forever.  Let  me  keep 
this  sunshine,  this  picture,  this  companionship  with  you 
long  enough  to  say  now  what  perhaps  I  must  not  say  to- 
morrow. " 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  by  a  common 
instinct  turned  together  into  a  narrow  trail,  scarce  wide 
enough  for  two,  that  diverged  from  the  straight  practical 
path  before  them.  It  was  indeed  a  roundabout  way  home, 
so  roundabout,  in  fact,  that  as  they  wandered  on  it  seemed 
even  to  double  on  its  track,  occasionally  lingering  long  and 
becoming  indistinct  under  the  shadow  of  madrono  and 
willow ;  at  one  time  stopping  blindly  before  a  fallen  tree 
in  the  hollow,  where  they  had  quite  lost  it,  and  had  to  sit 
down  to  recall  it;  a  rough  way,  often  requiring  the  mu- 
tual help  of  each  other's  hands  and  eyes  to  tread  together  in 
security;  an  uncertain  way,  not  to  be  found  without  whis- 
pered consultation  and  concession,  and  yet  a  way  eventually 
bringing  them  hand  in  hand,  happy  and  hopeful,  to  the 
gate  of  Madrono  Cottage.  And  if  there  was  only  just 
time  for  Eosey  to  prepare  to  take  the  boat,  it  was  due  to 
the  deviousness  of  the  way.  If  a  stray  curl  was  lying 
loose  on  Eosey 's  cheek,  and  a  long  hair  had  caught  in  Een- 
shaw's  button,  it  was  owing  to  the  roughness  of  the  way; 
and  if  in  the  tones  of  their  voices  and  in  the  glances  of 
their  eyes  there  was  a  maturer  seriousness,  it  was  due  to 
the  dim  uncertainty  of  the  path  they  had  traveled,  and 
would  hereafter  tread  together. 

IX 

When  Mr.  Nott  had  satisfied  himself  of  Eenshaw's  de- 
parture, he  coolly  bolted  the  door  at  the  head  of  the  com- 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  299 

panionway,  thus  cutting  off  any  communication  with  the 
lower  deck.  Taking  a  long  rifle  from  the  rack  above  his 
berth,  he  carefully  examined  the  hammer  and  cap,  and  then 
cautiously  let  himself  down  through  the  "fore  hatch  to  the 
deck  below.  After  a  deliberate  survey  of  the  still  intact 
fastenings  of  the  hatch  over  the  forehold,  he  proceeded 
quietly  to  unloose  them  again  with  the  aid  of  the  tools  that 
still  lay  there.  When  the  hatch  was  once  more  free  he 
lifted  it,  and  withdrawing  a  few  feet  from  the  opening, 
sat  himself  down,  rifle  in  hand.  A  profound  silence 
reigned  throughout  the  lower  deck. 

"Ye  kin  rize  up  out  o'  that,"  said  Nott  gently. 

There  was  a  stealthy  rustle  below  that  seemed  to  ap- 
proach the  hatch,  and  then  with  a  sudden  bound  the  Lascar 
leaped  on  the  deck.  But  at  the  same  instant  Nott  covered 
him  with  his  rifle.  A  slight  shade  of  disappointment  and 
surprise  had  crossed  the  old  man's  face,  and  clouded  his 
small  round  eyes  at  the  apparition  of  the  Lascar,  but  his 
hand  was  none  the  less  firm  upon  the  trigger  as  the  fright- 
ened prisoner  sank  on  his  knees,  with  his  hands  clasped  in 
the  attitude  of  supplication  for  mercy. 

"Ef  you're  thinkin'  o'  skippin'  afore  I've  done  with 
yer,"  said  Nott,  with  labored  gentleness,  "I  oughter  warn 
ye  that  it 's  my  style  to  drop  Injins  at  two  hundred  yards, 
and  this  deck  ain't  anywhere  more  'n  fifty.  It 's  an  un- 
comfortable style,  a  nasty  style  —  but  it's  my  style.  I 
thought'  I  'd  tell  yer,  so  yer  could  take  it  easy  where  you 
air.  Where  's  Ferrers  1 " 

Even  in  the  man's  insane  terror,  his  utter  bewilder- 
ment at  the  question  was  evident.  "Ferrers?  "  he  gasped; 
"don't  know  him,  I  swear  to  God,  boss." 

"P'r'aps,"  said  Nott,  with  infinite  cunning,  "yer  don't 
know  the  man  ez  kem  into  the  loft  from  the  alley  last 
night  —  p'r'aps  yer  didn't  see  an  airy  Frenchman  with  a 
dyed  mustache,  eh  ?  I  thought  that  would  fetch  ye ! "  he 


300  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

continued,  as  the  man  started  at  the  evidence  that  his  vi- 
sion of  last  night  was  a  living  man.  "P'r'aps  you  and  him 
didn't  break  into  this  ship  last  night,  jist  to  run  off  with 
my  darter  Eosey?  P'r'aps  yer  don't  know  Eosey,  eh? 
P'r'aps  yer  don't  know  ez  Ferrers  wants  to  marry  her,  and 
hez  been  hangin'  round  yer  ever  since  he  left  —  eh  1 " 

Scarcely  believing  the  evidence  of  his  senses  that  the 
old  man  whose  treasure  he  had  been  trying  to  steal  was 
utterly  ignorant  of  his  real  offense,  and  yet  uncertain  of 
the  penalty  of  the  other  crime  of  which  he  was  accused,  the 
Lascar  writhed  his  body  and  stammered  vaguely,  "Mercy! 
Mercy!" 

"Well,"  said  Nott  cautiously,  "ez  I  reckon  the  hide  of 
a  dead  Chinee  nigger  ain't  any  more  vallyble  than  that 
of  a  dead  Injin,  I  don't  care  ef  I  let  up  on  yer  —  seein' 
the  cussedness  ain't  yours.  But  ef  I  let  yer  off  this  once, 
you  must  take  a  message  to  Ferrers  from  me." 

"Let  me  off  this  time,  boss,  and  I  swear  to  God  I  will," 
said  the  Lascar  eagerly. 

"Ye  kin  say  to  Ferrers  —  let  me  see"  —  deliberated 
Nott,  leaning  on  his  rifle  with  cautious  reflection.  "Ye 
kin  say  to  Ferrers  like  this  —  sez  you,  '  Ferrers, '  sez  you, 
'  the  old  man  sez  that  afore  you  went  away  you  sez  to  him, 
sez  you,  "I  take  my  honor  with  me,"  sez  you  '  — have  you 
got  that  ?  "  interrupted  Nott  suddenly. 

"Yes,  boss." 

" '  I  take  my  honor  with  me, '  sez  you, "  repeated  Nott 
slowly.  "  '  Now, '  sez  you  —  '  the  old  man  sez,  sez  he  — 
tell  Ferrers,  sez  he,  that  his  honor  havin'  run  away  agin, 
he  sends  it  back  to  him,  and  ef  he  ever  ketches  it  around 
after  this,  he  '11  shoot  it  on  sight. '  Hev  yer  got  that  ?  " 

"Yes,"  stammered  the  bewildered  captive. 

"Then  git!" 

The  Lascar  sprang  to  his  feet  with  the  agility  of  a  pan- 
ther, leaped  through  the  hatch  above  him,  and  disappeared 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  301 

over  the  bow  of  the  ship  with  an  unhesitating  directness 
that  showed  that  every  avenue  of  escape  had  been  already 
contemplated  by  him.  Slipping  lightly  from  the  cut- 
water to  the  ground,  he  continued  his  flight,  only  stopping 
at  the  private  office  of  Mr.  Sleight. 

When  Mr.  Renshaw  and  Rosey  Nott  arrived  on  board 
the  Pontiac  that  evening,  they  were  astonished  to  find 
the  passage  before  the  cabin  completely  occupied  with 
trunks  and  boxes,  and  the  bulk  of  their  household  goods 
apparently  in  the  process  of  removal.  Mr.  Nott,  who  was 
superintending  the  work  of  two  Chinamen,  betrayed  not 
only  no  surprise  at  the  appearance  of  the  young  people,  but 
not  the  remotest  recognition  of  their  own  bewilderment  at 
his  occupation. 

"Kalkilatin',"  he  remarked  casually  to  his  daughter, 
"you'd  rather  look  arter  your  fixin's,  Rosey,  I've  left 
'em  till  the  last.  P'r'aps  yer  and  Mr.  Renshaw  wouldn't 
mind  sittin'  down  on  that  locker  until  I  've  strapped  this 
yer  box." 

"  But  what  does  it  all  mean,  father  1 "  said  Rosey,  tak- 
ing the  old  man  by  the  lapels  of  his  pea-jacket,  and 
slightly  emphasizing  her  question.  "What  in  the  name  of 
goodness  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"Breakin'  camp,  Rosey  dear,  breakin'  camp,  jist  ez  we 
uster,"  replied  Nott,  with  cheerful  philosophy.  "Kinder 
like  ole  times,  ain't  it?  Lord,  Rosey,"  he  continued, 
stopping  and  following  up  the  reminiscence,  with  the  end 
of  the  rope  in  his  hand  as  if  it  were  a  clue,  "don't  ye  mind 
that  day  we  started  outer  Livermore  Pass,  and  seed  the 
hull  o'  the  Calif orny  coast  stretchin'  yonder  —  eh?  But 
don't  ye  be  skeered,  Rosey  dear,"  he  added  quickly,  as  if 
in  recognition  of  the  alarm  expressed  in  her  face.  "I  ain't 
turning  ye  outer  house  and  home;  I  've  jist  hired  that  'ere 
Madrono  Cottage  from  the  Peters  ontil  we  kin  look  round. " 

"But  you're  not  leaving  the  ship,  father,"  continued 


302  A   SHIP   OF   '49 

Kosey  impetuously.  "You  have  n't  sold  it  to  that  man 
Sleight?" 

Mr.  Nott  rose  and  carefully  closed  the  cabin  door.  Then 
drawing  a  large  wallet  from  his  pocket,  he  said,  "  It 's  sin- 
g'lar  ye  should  hev  got  the  name  right  the  first  pop,  ain't 
it,  Kosey?  but  it's  Sleight  sure  enough,  all  the  time. 
This  yer  check,"  he  added,  producing  a  paper  from  the 
depths  of  the  wallet,  —  "this  yer  check  for  $25,000  is  wot 
he  paid  for  it  only  two  hours  ago." 

"But,"  said  Eenshaw,  springing  to  his  feet  furiously, 
"you  're  duped,  swindled  —  betrayed !  " 

"Young  man,"  said  Nott,  throwing  a  certain  dignity 
into  his  habitual  gesture  of  placing  his  hands  on  Eenshaw 's 
shoulders,  "I  bought  this  yer  ship  five  years  ago  jist  ez 
she  stood  for  $8000.  Kalkilatin'  wot  she  cost  me  in 
repairs  and  taxes,  and  wot  she  brought  me  in  since  then, 
accordin'  to  my  figgerin',  I  don't  call  a  clear  profit  of 
$15,000  much  of  a  swindle." 

"Tell  him  all,"  said  Eosey  quickly,  more  alarmed  at 
Eenshaw 's  despairing  face  than  at  the  news  itself.  "Tell 
him  everything,  Dick  —  Mr.  Eenshaw;  it  may  not  be  too 
late." 

In  a  voice  half  choked  with  passionate  indignation  Een- 
shaw hurriedly  repeated  the  story  of  the  hidden  treasure, 
and  the  plot  to  rescue  it,  prompted  frequently  by  Eosey's 
tenacious  memory  and  assisted  by  her  deft  and  tactful  ex- 
planations. But  to  their  surprise  the  imperturbable  counte- 
nance of  Abner  Nott  never  altered;  a  slight  moisture  of 
kindly  paternal  tolerance  of  their  extravagance  glistened 
in  his  little  eyes,  but  nothing  more. 

"Ef  there  was  a  part  o'  this  ship,  a  plank  or  a  bolt  ez 
I  don't  know,  ez  I  hev  n't  touched  with  my  own  hand, 
and  looked  into  with  my  own  eyes,  thar  might  be  suthin' 
in  that  story.  I  don't  let  on  to  be  a  sailor  like  you,  but 
ez  I  know  the  ship  ez  a  boy  knows  his  first  hoss,  as  a  wo- 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  303 

man  knows  her  first  babby,  I  reckon  thar  ain't  no  treasure 
yer  onless  it  was  brought  into  the  Pontiac  last  night  by 
them  chaps." 

"  But  are  you  mad  ?  Sleight  would  not  pay  three  times 
the  value  of  the  ship  to-day  if  he  were  not  positive !  And 
that  positive  knowledge  was  gained  last  night  by  the  villain 
who  broke  into  the  Pontiac  —  no  doubt  the  Lascar." 

"Surely,"  said  Nott  meditatively.  "The  Lascar  ! 
There  's  suthin'  in  that.  That  Lascar  I  fastened  down  in 
the  hold  last  night  unbeknownst  to  you,  Mr.  Kenshaw, 
and  let  him  out  again  this  morning  ekally  unbeknownst." 

"And  you  let  him  carry  his  information  to  Sleight  — 
without  a  word ! "  said  Eenshaw,  with  a  sickening  sense  of 
Nott's  utter  fatuity. 

"I  sent  him  back  with  a  message  to  the  man  he  kern 
from,"  said  Nott,  winking  both  his  eyes  at  Eenshaw  sig- 
nificantly, and  making  signs  behind  his  daughter's  back. 

Eosey,  conscious  of  her  lover's  irritation,  and  more  eager 
to  soothe  his  impatience  than  from  any  faith  in  her  sugges- 
tion, interfered.  "Why  not  examine  the  place  where  he 
was  concealed  1  he  may  have  left  some  traces  of  his  search. " 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other.  "  Seein'  ez  I  've 
turned  the  Pontiac  over  to  Sleight  jist  as  it  stands,  I  don't 
know  ez  it 's  'zactly  on  the  square,"  said  Nott  doubtfully. 

"  You  've  a  right  to  know  at  least  what  you  deliver  to 
him,"  interrupted  Kenshaw  brusquely.  "Bring  a  lantern." 

Followed  by  Eosey,  Eenshaw  and  Nott  hurriedly  sought 
the  lower  deck  and  the  open  hatch  of  the  forehold.  The 
two  men  leaped  down  first  with  the  lantern,  and  then  as- 
sisted Eosey  to  descend.  Eenshaw  took  a  step  forward  and 
uttered  a  cry. 

The  rays  of  the  lantern  fell  on  the  ship's  side.  The 
Lascar  had,  during  his  forced  seclusion,  put  back  the  boxes 
of  treasure  and  replaced  the  planking,  yet  not  so  carefully 
but  that  the  quick  eye  of  Eenshaw  had  discovered  it.  The 


304  A  SHIP  OF  '49 

next  moment  he  had  stripped  away  the  planking  again, 
and  the  hurriedly  restored  box  which  the  Lascar  had  found 
fell  to  the  deck,  scattering  part  of  its  ringing  contents. 
Eosey  turned  pale;  Eenshaw 's  eyes  flashed  fire;  onlyAbner 
Nott  remained  quiet  and  impassive. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  you  have  been  duped  ? "  said  Een- 
shaw  passionately. 

To  their  surprise  Mr.  Nott  stooped  down,  and  picking 
up  one  of  the  coins,  handed  it  gravely  to  Eenshaw. 
"Would  ye  mind  heftin'  that  'ere  coin  in  your  hand  — 
feelin'  it,  bitin'  it,  scrapin'  it  with  a  knife,  and  kinder 
seein'  how  it  compares  with  other  coins  ? " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Eenshaw. 

"  I  mean  that  that  yer  coin  —  that  all  the  coins  in  this 
yer  box,  that  all  the  coins  in  them  other  boxes  —  and 
thar 's  forty  on  'em — is  all  and  every  one  of  'em  coun- 
terfeits!" 

The  piece  dropped  unconsciously  from  Kenshaw's  hand, 
and  striking  another  that  lay  on  the  deck,  gave  out  a  dull, 
suspicious  ring. 

"They  waz  counterfeits  got  up  by  them  Dutch  super- 
cargo sharps  for  dealin'  with  the  Injins  and  cannibals  and 
South  Sea  heathens  ez  bows  down  to  wood  and  stone.  It 
satisfied  them  ez  well  ez  them  buttons  ye  puts  in  mission- 
ary boxes,  I  reckon,  and,  'cepting  ez  freight,  don't  cost 
nothin'.  I  found  'em  tucked  in  the  ribs  o'  the  old  Pontiac 
when  I  bought  her,  and  I  nailed  'em  up  in  thar  lest  they 
should  fall  into  dishonest  hands.  It 's  a  lucky  thing,  Mr. 
Eenshaw,  that  they  comes  into  the  honest  fingers  of  a 
square  man  like  Sleight  —  ain't  it  ?  " 

He  turned  his  small,  guileless  eyes  upon  Eenshaw  with 
such  childlike  simplicity  that  it  checked  the  hysterical 
laugh  that  was  rising  to  the  young  man's  lips. 

"  But  did  any  one  know  of  this  but  yourself  ?  " 

"I   reckon    not.      I    once    suspicioned  that  old  Cap'en 


A  SHIP  OF  '49  305 

Bower,  who  was  always  foolin'  round  the  hold  yer,  must 
hev  noticed  the  bulge  in  the  casin',  but  when  he  took  to 
axin'  questions  I  axed  others  —  ye  know  my  style,  Rosey  ? 
Come." 

He  led  the  way  grimly  back  to  the  cabin,  the  young 
people  following;  but  turning  suddenly  at  the  companion- 
way,  he  observed  Renshaw's  arm  around  the  waist  of  his 
daughter.  He  said  nothing  until  they  had  reached  the 
cabin,  when  he  closed  the  door  softly,  and,  looking  at  them 
both  gently,  said  with  infinite  cunning :  — 

"Ef  it  isn't  too  late,  Rosey,  ye  kin  tell  this  young 
man  ez  how  I  forgive  him  for  havin'  diskivered  THE 
TREASURE  of  the  Pontiac." 

It  was  nearly  eighteen  months  afterwards  that  Mr.  Nott 
one  morning  entered  the  room  of  his  son-in-law  at  Ma- 
drono Cottage.  Drawing  him  aside,  he  said,  with  his  old 
air  of  mystery,  "Now  ez  Rosey  's  ailin'  and  don't  seem  to 
be  so  eager  to  diskiver  what 's  become  of  Mr.  Ferrers,  I 
don't  mind  tellin'  ye  that  over  a  year  ago  I  heard  he  died 
suddenly  in  Sacramento.  Thar  was  suthin'  in  the  paper 
about  his  bein'  a  lunatic  and  claimin'  to  be  a  relation  to 
somebody  on  the  Pontiac;  but  likes  ez  not  it's  only  the 
way  those  newspaper  fellows  got  hold  of  the  story  of  his 
wantin'  to  marry  Rosey." 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TITLES 

I 

ON  October  10,  1856,  about  four  hundred  people  were 
camped  in  Tasajara  Valley,  California.  It  could  not  have 
been  for  the  prospect,  since  a  more  barren,  dreary,  monot- 
onous, and  uninviting  landscape  never  stretched  before 
human  eye ;  it  could  not  have  been  for  convenience  or  con- 
tiguity, as  the  nearest  settlement  was  thirty  miles  away;  it 
could  not  have  been  for  health  or  salubrity,  as  the  breath 
of  the  ague-haunted  tules  in  the  outlying  Stockton  marshes 
swept  through  the  valley;  it  could  not  have  been  for  space 
or  comfort,  for,  encamped  on  an  unlimited  plain,  men  and 
women  were  huddled  together  as  closely  as  in  an  urban 
tenement-house,  without  the  freedom  or  decency  of  rural 
isolation;  it  could  not  have  been  for  pleasant  companion- 
ship, as  dejection,  mental  anxiety,  tears,  and  lamentation 
were  the  dominant  expression ;  it  was  not  a  hurried  flight 
from  present  or  impending  calamity,  for  the  camp  had  been 
deliberately  planned,  and  for  a  week  pioneer  wagons  had 
been  slowly  arriving;  it  was  not  an  irrevocable  exodus,  for 
some  had  already  returned  to  their  homes  that  others  might 
take  their  places.  It  was  simply  a  religious  revival  of  one 
or  two  denominational  sects,  known  as  a  "camp-meeting." 

A  large  central  tent  served  for  the  assembling  of  the 
principal  congregation;  smaller  tents  served  for  prayer- 
meetings  and  class-rooms,  known  to  the  few  unbelievers  as 
"  side-shows ; "  while  the  actual  dwellings  of  the  worship- 
ers were  rudely  extemporized  shanties  of  boards  and  canvas, 
sometimes  mere  corrals  or  inclosures  open  to  the  cloudless 


AN   APOSTLE   OF   THE   TULES  307 

sky,  or  more  often  the  unhitched  covered  wagon  which 
had  brought  them  there.  The  singular  resemblance  to  a 
circus,  already  profanely  suggested,  was  carried  out  by  a 
straggling  fringe  of  boys  and  half-grown  men  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  encampment,  acrimonious  with  disappointed 
curiosity,  lazy  without  the  careless  ease  of  vagrancy,  and 
vicious  without  the  excitement  of  dissipation.  For  the 
coarse  poverty  and  brutal  economy  of  the  larger  arrange- 
ments, the  dreary  panorama  of  unlovely  and  unwholesome 
domestic  details  always  before  the  eyes,  were  hardly  excit- 
ing to  the  senses.  The  circus  might  have  been  more  dan- 
gerous, but  scarcely  more  brutalizing.  The  actors  them- 
selves, hard  and  aggressive  through  practical  struggles, 
often  warped  and  twisted  with  chronic  forms  of  smaller 
diseases,  or  malformed  and  crippled  through  carelessness 
and  neglect,  and  restless  and  uneasy  through  some  vague 
mental  distress  and  inquietude  that  they  had  added  to  their 
burdens,  were  scarcely  amusing  performers.  The  rheu- 
matic Parkinsons,  from  Green  Springs;  the  ophthalmic 
Filgees,  from  Alder  Creek;  the  ague-stricken  Harneys, 
from  Martinez  Bend;  and  the  feeble-limbed  Steptons, 
from  Sugar  Mill,  might,  in  their  combined  families,  have 
suggested  a  hospital,  rather  than  any  other  social  assem- 
blage. Even  their  companionship,  which  had  little  of 
cheerful  fellowship  in  it,  would  have  been  grotesque  but 
for  the  pathetic  instinct  of  some  mutual  vague  appeal  from 
the  hardness  of  their  lives  and  the  helplessness  of  their 
conditions  that  had  brought  them  together.  Nor  was  this 
appeal  to  a  Higher  Power  any  the  less  pathetic  that  it  bore 
no  reference  whatever  to  their  respective  needs  or  deficien- 
cies, but  was  always  an  invocation  for  a  light  which,  when 
they  believed  they  had  found  it,  to  unregenerate  eyes 
scarcely  seemed  to  illumine  the  rugged  path  in  which  their 
feet  were  continually  stumbling.  One  might  have  smiled 
at  the  idea  of  the  vendetta-following  Ferguses  praying  for 


308  AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE   TULES 

"justification  by  Faith,"  but  the  actual  spectacle  of  old 
Simon  Fergus,  whose  shot-gun  was  still  in  his  wagon, 
offering  up  that  appeal  with  streaming  eyes  and  agonized 
features,  was  painful  beyond  a  doubt.  To  seek  and  obtain 
an  exaltation  of  feeling  vaguely  known  as  "It,"  or  less 
vaguely  veiling  a  sacred  name,  was  the  burden  of  the  gen- 
eral appeal. 

The  large  tent  had  been  filled,  and  between  the  exhorta- 
tions a  certain  gloomy  enthusiasm  had  been  kept  up  by 
singing,  which  had  the  effect  of  continuing  in  an  easy, 
rhythmical,  impersonal,  and  irresponsible  way  the  sympa- 
thies of  the  meeting.  This  was  interrupted  by  a  young 
man  who  rose  suddenly  with  that  spontaneity  of  impulse 
which  characterized  the  speakers;  but  unlike  his  predeces- 
sors, he  remained  for  a  moment  mute,  trembling,  and  irreso- 
lute. The  fatal  hesitation  seemed  to  check  the  unreason- 
ing, monotonous  flow  of  emotion  and  to  recall  to  some 
extent  the  reason  and  even  the  criticism  of  the  worshipers. 
He  stammered  a  prayer  whose  earnestness  was  undoubted, 
whose  humility  was  but  too  apparent,  but  his  words  fell  on 
faculties  already  benumbed  by  repetition  and  rhythm.  A 
slight  movement  of  curiosity  in  the  rear  benches,  and  a 
whisper  that  it  was  the  maiden  effort  of  a  new  preacher, 
helped  to  prolong  the  interruption.  A  heavy  man  of 
strong  physical  expression  sprang  to  the  rescue  with  a  hys- 
terical cry  of  "  Glory ! "  and  a  tumultuous  fluency  of  epi- 
thet and  sacred  adjuration.  Still  the  meeting  wavered. 
With  one  final  paroxysmal  cry,  the  powerful  man  threw 
his  arms  around  his  nearest  neighbor  and  burst  into  silent 
tears.  An  anxious  hush  followed;  the  speaker  still  con- 
tinued to  sob  on  his  neighbor's  shoulder.  Almost  before 
the  fact  could  be  commented  upon,  it  was  noticed  that  the 
entire  rank  of  worshipers  on  the  bench  beside  him  were 
crying  also  ;  the  second  and  third  rows  were  speedily  dis- 
solved in  tears,  until  even  the  very  youthful  scoffers  in  the 


AN  APOSTLE   OF   THE   TITLES  309 

last  benches  suddenly  found  their  half-hysterical  laughter 
turned  to  sobs.  The  danger  was  averted,  the  reaction  was 
complete;  the  singing  commenced,  and  in  a  few  moments 
the  hapless  cause  of  the  interruption  and  the  man  who  had 
retrieved  the  disaster  stood  together  outside  the  tent.  A 
horse  was  picketed  near  them. 

The  victor  was  still  panting  from  his  late  exertions, 
and  was  more  or  less  diluvial  in  eye  and  nostril,  but 
neither  eye  nor  nostril  bore  the  slightest  tremor  of  other 
expression.  His  face  was  stolid  and  perfectly  in  keeping 
with  his  physique,  —  heavy,  animal,  and  unintelligent. 

"Ye  oughter  trusted  in  the  Lord,"  he  said  to  the  young 
preacher. 

"But  I  did,"  responded  the  young  man  earnestly. 

"That's  it.  Justifyin'  yourself  by  works  instead  o' 
leanin'  onto  Him!  Find  Him,  sez  you!  Git  Him,  sez 
you !  Works  is  vain.  Glory !  glory !  "  he  continued,  with 
fluent  vacuity  and  wandering,  dull,  observant  eyes. 

"But  if  I  had  a  little  more  practice  in  class,  Brother 
Silas,  more  education  1 " 

"The  letter  killeth,"  interrupted  Brother  Silas.  Here 
his  wandering  eyes  took  dull  cognizance  of  two  female  faces 
peering  through  the  opening  of  the  tent.  "  No,  yet  mishun, 
Brother  Gideon,  is  to  seek  Him  in  the  byways,  in  the 
wilderness,  —  where  the  foxes  hev  holes  and  the  ravens 
hev  their  young,  — but  not  in  the  Temples  of  the  people. 
Wot  sez  Sister  Parsons  ?  " 

One  of  the  female  faces  detached  itself  from  the  tent 
flaps,  which  it  nearly  resembled  in  color,  and  brought  for- 
ward an  angular  figure  clothed  in  faded  fustian  that  had 
taken  the  various  shades  and  odors  of  household  service. 

"Brother  Silas  speaks  well,"  said  Sister  Parsons,  with 
stridulous  fluency.  "It 's  foreordained.  Fore-ordinashun 
is  better  nor  ordinashun,  saith  the  Lord.  He  shall  go 
forth,  turnin'  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  the  left  hand, 


310  AN   APOSTLE   OF   THE   TULES 

and  seek  Him  among  the  lost  tribes  and  the  ungodly.  He 
shall  put  aside  the  temptashun  of  Mammon  and  the  flesh. " 
Her  eyes  and  those  of  Brother  Silas  here  both  sought  the 
other  female  face,  which  was  that  of  a  young  girl  of  seven- 
teen. 

"  Wot  sez  little  Sister  Meely,  —  wot  sez  Meely  Parsons  ? " 
continued  Brother  Silas,  as  if  repeating  an  unctuous  for- 
mula. 

The  young  girl  came  hesitatingly  forward,  and  with  a 
nervous  cry  of  "  Oh,  Gideon !  "  threw  herself  on  the  breast 
of  the  young  man. 

For  a  moment  they  remained  locked  in  each  other's 
arms.  In  the  promiscuous  and  fraternal  embracings  which 
were  a  part  of  the  devotional  exercises  of  the  hour,  the  act 
passed  without  significance.  The  young  man  gently  raised 
her  face.  She  was  young  and  comely,  albeit  marked  with 
a  half -frightened,  half- vacant  sorrow.  "  Amen  !  "  said 
Brother  Gideon  gravely. 

He  mounted  his  horse  and  turned  to  go.  Brother  Silas 
had  clasped  his  powerful  arms  around  both  women,  and 
was  holding  them  in  a  ponderous  embrace. 

"Go  forth,  young  man,  into  the  wilderness." 

The  young  man  bowed  his  head,  and  urged  his  horse 
forward  in  the  bleak  and  barren  plain.  In  half  an  hour 
every  vestige  of  the  camp  and  its  unwholesome  surround- 
ings was  lost  in  the  distance.  It  was  as  if  the  strong  desic- 
cating wind,  which  seemed  to  spring  up  at  his  horse's  feet, 
had  cleanly  erased  the  flimsy  structures  from  the  face  of  the 
plain,  swept  away  the  lighter  breath  of  praise  and  plaint, 
and  dried  up  the  easy  flowing  tears.  The  air  was  harsh 
but  pure;  the  grim  economy  of  form  and  shade  and  color 
in  the  level  plain  was  coarse  but  not  vulgar;  the  sky  above 
him  was  cold  and  distant  but  not  repellent,  the  moisture 
that  had  been  denied  his  eyes  at  the  prayer-meeting  over- 
flowed them  here ;  the  words  that  had  choked  his  utterance 


AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE   TULES  311 

an  hour  ago  now  rose  to  his  lips.  He  threw  himself  from 
his  horse,  and  kneeling  hi  the  withered  grass,  —  a  mere 
atom  in  the  boundless  plain,  —  lifted  his  pale  face  against 
the  irresponsive  blue  and  prayed. 

He  prayed  that  the  unselfish  dream  of  his  bitter  boy- 
hood, his  disappointed  youth,  might  come  to  pass.  He 
prayed  that  he  might  in  higher  hands  become  the  humble 
instrument  of  good  to  his  fellow  man.  He  prayed  that  the 
deficiencies  of  his  scant  education,  his  self-taught  learning, 
his  helpless  isolation,  and  his  inexperience  might  be  over- 
looked or  reinforced  by  grace.  He  prayed  that  the  Infinite 
Compassion  might  enlighten  his  ignorance  and  solitude 
with  a  manifestation  of  the  Spirit;  in  his  very  weakness 
he  prayed  for  some  special  revelation,  some  sign  or  token, 
some  visitation  or  gracious  unbending  from  that  coldly 
lifting  sky.  The  low  sun  burned  the  black  edge  of  the 
distant  tules  Avith  dull  eating  fires  as  he  prayed,  lit  the 
dwarfed  hills  with  a  brief  but  ineffectual  radiance,  and 
then  died  out.  The  lingering  trade  winds  fired  a  few 
volleys  over  its  grave,  and  then  lapsed  into  a  chilly  silence. 
The  young  man  staggered  to  his  feet;  it  was  quite  dark 
now,  but  the  coming  night  had  advanced  a  few  starry  ve- 
dettes so  near  the  plain  they  looked  like  human  watch- 
fires.  For  an  instant  he  could  not  remember  where  he  was. 
Then  a  light  trembled  far  down  at  the  entrance  of  the  val- 
ley. Brother  Gideon  recognized  it.  It  was  in  the  lonely 
farmhouse  of  the  widow  of  the  last  Circuit  preacher. 

n 

The  abode  of  the  late  Eeverend  Marvin  Hiler  remained 
in  the  disorganized  condition  he  had  left  it  when  removed 
from  his  sphere  of  earthly  uselessness  and  continuous  ac- 
cident. The  straggling  fence  that  only  half  inclosed  the 
house  and  barn  had  stopped  at  that  point  where  the  two 
deacons  who  had  each  volunteered  to  do  a  day's  work  on 


312  AN  APOSTLE   OF   THE   TULES 

it  had  completed  their  allotted  time.  The  building  of  the 
barn  had  been  arrested  when  the  half  load  of  timber  con- 
tributed by  Sugar  Mill  brethren  was  exhausted,  and  three 
windows  given  by  "  Christian  Seekers  "  at  Martinez  pain- 
fully accented  the  boarded  spaces  for  the  other  three  that 
"  Unknown  Friends  "  in  Tasajara  had  promised  but  not  yet 
supplied.  In  the  clearing  some  trees  that  had  been  felled 
but  not  taken  away  added  to  the  general  incompleteness. 

Something  of  this  unfinished  character  clung  to  the 
Widow  Hiler  and  asserted  itself  in  her  three  children,  one 
of  whom  was  consistently  posthumous.  Prematurely  old 
and  prematurely  disappointed,  she  had  all  the  inexperience 
of  girlhood  with  the  cares  of  maternity,  and  kept  in  her 
family  circle  the  freshness  of  an  old  maid's  misogynistic 
antipathies  with  a  certain  guilty  and  remorseful  conscious- 
ness of  widowhood.  She  supported  the  meagre  house- 
hold to  which  her  husband  had  contributed  only  the  extra 
mouths  to  feed  with  reproachful  astonishment  and  weary 
incapacity.  She  had  long  since  grown  tired  of  trying  to 
make  both  ends  meet  of  which  she  declared  "the  Lord  had 
taken  one."  During  her  two  years'  widowhood  she  had 
waited  on  Providence,  who  by  a  pleasing  local  fiction  had 
been  made  responsible  for  the  disused  and  cast-off  furni- 
ture and  clothing  which,  accompanied  with  scriptural  texts, 
found  their  way  mysteriously  into  her  few  habitable  rooms. 
The  providential  manna  was  not  always  fresh ;  the  ravens 
who  fed  her  and  her  little  ones  with  flour  from  the  Sugar 
Mills  did  not  always  select  the  best  quality.  Small  won- 
der that,  sitting  by  her  lonely  hearthstone,  —  a  borrowed 
stove  that  supplemented  the  unfinished  fireplace,  —  sur- 
rounded by  her  mismatched  furniture  and  clad  in  misfitting 
garments,  she  had  contracted  a  habit  of  sniffling  during  her 
dreary  watches.  In  her  weaker  moments  she  attributed  it 
to  grief;  in  her  stronger  intervals  she  knew  that  it  sprang 
from  damp  and  draught. 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE   TULES  313 

In  her  apathy  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  at  her  unpro- 
tected door  even  at  that  hour  neither  surprised  nor  alarmed 
her.  She  lifted  her  head  as  the  door  opened,  and  the  pale 
face  of  Gideon  Deane  looked  into  the  room.  She  moved 
aside  the  cradle  she  was  rocking,  and  taking  a  saucepan 
and  teacup  from  a  chair  heside  her,  absently  dusted  it  with 
her  apron,  and  pointing  to  the  vacant  seat,  said,  "Take  a 
chair  "  as  quietly  as  if  he  had  stepped  from  the  next  room 
instead  of  the  outer  darkness. 

"I  '11  put  up  my  horse  first,"  said  Gideon  gently. 

"So  do,"  responded  the  widow  briefly. 

Gideon  led  his  horse  across  the  inclosure,  stumbling  over 
the  heaps  of  rubbish,  dried  chips,  and  weather-beaten  shav- 
ings with  which  it  was  strewn,  until  he  reached  the  unfin- 
ished barn,  where  he  temporarily  bestowed  his  beast. 
Then  taking  a  rusty  axe,  by  the  faint  light  of  the  stars,  he 
attacked  one  of  the  fallen  trees  with  such  energy  that  at 
the  end  of  ten  minutes  he  reappeared  at  the  door  with  an 
armful  of  cut  boughs  and  chips,  which  he  quietly  deposited 
behind  the  stove.  Observing  that  he  was  still  standing  as 
if  looking  for  something,  the  widow  lifted  her  eyes  and 
said,  "Ef  it's  the  bucket,  I  reckon  ye '11  find  it  at  the 
spring,  where  one  of  them  foolish  Filgee  boys  left  it. 
I  've  been  that  tuckered  out  sens  sundown,  I  ain't  had  the 
ambition  to  go  and  tote  it  back."  Without  a  word  Gideon 
repaired  to  the  spring,  filled  the  missing  bucket,  replaced 
the  hoop  on  the  loosened  staves  of  another  he  found  lying 
useless  beside  it,  and  again  returned  to  the  house.  The 
widow  once  more  pointed  to  the  chair,  and  Gideon  sat 
down.  "It's  quite  a  spell  sens  you  wos  here,"  said  the 
Widow  Hiler,  returning  her  foot  to  the  cradle-rocker; 
"not  sens  yer  was  ordained.  Be'n  practicing  I  reckon, 
at  the  meetin'." 

A  slight  color  came  into  his  cheek.  "My  place  is  not 
there,  Sister  Hiler,"  he  said  gently;  "it's  for  those  with 


314  AN   APOSTLE   OF   THE   TULES 

the  gift  o'  tongues.  I  go  forth  only  a  common  laborer  in 
the  vineyard."  He  stopped  and  hesitated;  he  might  have 
said  more,  but  the  widow,  who  was  familiar  with  that  kind 
of  humility  as  the  ordinary  perfunctory  expression  of  her 
class,  suggested  no  sympathetic  interest  in  his  mission. 

"Thar's  a  deal  o'  talk  over  there,"  she  said  dryly, 
"and  thar  's  folks  ez  thinks  thar  's  a  deal  o'  money  spent  in 
picnicking  the  Gospel  that  might  be  given  to  them  ez  wish 
to  spread  it,  or  to  their  widows  and  children.  But  that 
don't  consarn  you,  Brother  Gideon.  Sister  Parsons  hez 
money  enough  to  settle  her  darter  Meely  comfortably  on 
her  own  land;  and  I  've  heard  tell  that  you  and  Meely  was 
only  waitin'  till  you  was  ordained  to  be  jined  together. 
You  '11  hev  an  easier  time  of  it,  Brother  Gideon,  than  poor 
Marvin  Hiler  had,"  she  continued,  suppressing  her  tears 
with  a  certain  astringency  that  took  the  place  of  her  lost 
pride;  "but  the  Lord  wills  that  some  should  be  tried  and 
some  not." 

"But  I  am  not  going  to  marry  Meely  Parsons,"  said 
Gideon  quietly. 

The  widow  took  her  foot  from  the  rocker.  "  Not  marry 
Meely !  "  she  repeated  vaguely.  But  relapsing  into  her  de- 
spondent mood,  she  continued:  "Then  I  reckon  it 's  true 
what  other  folks  sez  of  Brother  Silas  Braggley  rnakin'  up 
to  her  and  his  powerful  exhortin'  influence  over  her  ma. 
Folks  sez  ez  Sister  Parsons  hez  just  resigned  her  soul  inter 
his  keepin'." 

"  Brother  Silas  hez  a  heavenly  gift, "  said  the  young  man, 
with  gentle  enthusiasm;  "and  perhaps  it  may  be  so.  If 
it  is,  it  is  the  Lord's  will.  But  I  do  not  marry  Meely  be- 
cause my  life  and  my  ways  henceforth  must  lie  far  beyond 
her  sphere  of  strength.  I  oughtn't  to  drag  a  young,  inex- 
perienced soul  with  me  to  battle  and  struggle  in  the  thorny 
paths  that  I  must  tread." 

"I  reckon  you  know  your  own  mind,"  said  Sister  Hilei 


AN  APOSTLE  OF   THE   TULES  815 

grimly.  "But  thai 's  folks  ez  might  allow  that  Meely 
Parsons  ain't  any  better  than  others,  that  she  should  n't 
have  her  share  o'  trials  and  keers  and  crosses.  Riches  and 
bringin'  up  don't  exempt  folks  from  the  shadder.  /  mar- 
ried Marvin  Hiler  outer  a  house  ez  good  ez  Sister  Parsons', 
and  at  a  time  when  old  Cyrus  Parsons  had  n't  a  roof  to  his 
head  but  the  cover  of  the  emigrant  wagon  he  kem  across 
the  plains  in.  I  might  say  ez  Marvin  knowed  pretty  well 
wot  it  was  to  have  a  helpmeet  in  his  ministration,  if  it 
wasn't  vanity  of  sperit  to  say  it  now.  But  the  flesh  is 
weak,  Brother  Gideon."  Her  influenza  here  resolved  itself 
into  unmistakable  tears,  which  she  wiped  away  with  the 
first  article  that  was  accessible  in  the  work-bag  before  her. 
As  it  chanced  to  be  a  black  silk  neckerchief  of  the  deceased 
Hiler,  the  result  was  funereal,  suggestive,  but  practically 
ineffective. 

"You  were  a  good  wife  to  Brother  Hiler,"  said  the 
young  man  gently.  "Everybody  knows  that." 

"It'ssuthin'  to  think  of  since  he's  gone,"  continued 
the  widow,  bringing  her  work  nearer  to  her  eyes  to  adjust 
it  to  their  tear-dimmed  focus.  "It'ssuthin'  to  lay  to 
heart  in  the  lonely  days  and  nights  when  thar  's  no  man 
round  to  fetch  water  and  wood  and  lend  a  hand  to  doin' 
chores;  it's  suthin'  to  remember,  with  his  three  children 
to  feed,  and  little  Selby,  the  eldest,  that  vain  and  useless 
that  he  can't  even  tote  the  baby  round  while  I  do  the  work 
of  a  hired  man." 

"It 's  a  hard  trial,  Sister  Hiler,"  said  Gideon,  "but  the 
Lord  has  His  appointed  time." 

Familiar  as  consolation  by  vague  quotation  was  to  Sister 
Hiler,  there  was  an  occult  sympathy  in  the  tone  in  which 
this  was  offered  that  lifted  her  for  an  instant  out  of  her 
narrower  self.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  The  personal 
abstraction  of  the  devotee  had  no  place  in  the  deep  dark 
eyes  that  were  lifted  from  the  cradle  to  hers  with  a  sad, 


816  AN   APOSTLE   OF  THE   TULES 

discriminating,  and  almost  womanly  sympathy.  Surprised 
out  of  her  selfish  preoccupation,  she  was  reminded  of  her 
apparent  callousness  to  what  might  be  his  present  disap- 
pointment. Perhaps  it  seemed  strange  to  her,  too,  that 
those  tender  eyes  should  go  a-begging. 

"Yer  takin'  a  Christian  view  of  yer  own  disappoint- 
ment, Brother  Gideon,"  she  said,  with  less  astringency  of 
manner;  "but  every  heart  knoweth  its  own  sorrer.  I'll 
be  gettin'  supper  now  that  the  baby  's  sleepin'  sound,  and 
ye  '11  sit  by  and  eat." 

"If  you  let  me  help  you,  Sister  Hiler,"  said  the  young 
man  with  a  cheerfulness  that  belied  any  overwhelming 
heart  affection,  and  awakened  in  the  widow  a  feminine 
curiosity  as  to  his  real  feelings  to  Meely.  But  her  further 
questioning  was  met  with  a  frank,  amiable,  and  simple 
brevity  that  was  as  puzzling  as  the  most  artful  periphrase 
of  tact.  Accustomed  as  she  was  to  the  loquacity  of  grief 
and  the  confiding  prolixity  of  disappointed  lovers,  she  could 
not  understand  her  guest's  quiescent  attitude.  Her  curi- 
osity, however,  soon  gave  way  to  the  habitual  contempla- 
tion of  her  own  sorrows,  and  she  could  not  forego  the 
opportune  presence  of  a  sympathizing  auditor  to  whom  she 
could  relieve  her  feelings.  The  preparations  for  the  even- 
ing meal  were  therefore  accompanied  by  a  dreary  monotone 
of  lamentation.  She  bewailed  her  lost  youth,  her  brief 
courtship,  the  struggles  of  her  early  married  life,  her  pre- 
mature widowhood,  her  penurious  and  helpless  existence, 
the  disruption  of  all  her  present  ties,  the  hopelessness  of 
the  future.  She  rehearsed  the  unending  plaint  of  those 
long  evenings,  set  to  the  music  of  the  restless  wind  around 
her  bleak  dwelling,  with  something  of  its  stridulous  reitera- 
tion. The  young  man  listened,  and  replied  with  softly 
assenting  eyes,  but  without  pausing  in  the  material  aid  that 
he  was  quietly  giving  her.  He  had  removed  the  cradle 
of  the  sleeping  child  to  the  bedroom,  quieted  the  sudden 


AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE   TITLES  317 

wakefulness  of  "Pinkey,"  rearranged  the  straggling  fur- 
niture of  the  sitting-room  with  much  order  and  tidiness, 
repaired  the  hinges  of  a  rebellious  shutter  and  the  lock  of 
an  unyielding  door,  and  yet  had  apparently  retained  an 
unabated  interest  in  her  spoken  woes.  Surprised  once 
more  into  recognizing  this  devotion,  Sister  Hiler  abruptly 
arrested  her  monologue. 

"Well,  if  you  ain't  the  handiest  man  I  ever  seed  about 
a  house !  " 

"  Am  I  ? "  said  Gideon,  with  suddenly  sparkling  eyes. 
"Do  you  really  think  so?" 

"I  do." 

"Then  you  don't  know  how  glad  I  am."  His  frank 
face  so  unmistakably  showed  his  simple  gratification  that 
the  widow,  after  gazing  at  him  for  a  moment,  was  sud- 
denly seized  with  a  bewildering  fancy.  The  first  effect  of 
it  was  the  abrupt  withdrawal  of  her  eyes,  then  a  sudden 
effusion  of  blood  to  her  forehead  that  finally  extended  to 
her  cheek-bones,  and  then  an  interval  of  forgetfulness 
where  she  remained  with  a  plate  held  vaguely  in  her  hand. 
When  she  succeeded  at  last  in  putting  it  on  the  table  in- 
stead of  the  young  man's  lap,  she  said  in  a  voice  quite 
unlike  her  own :  — 

"Sho!" 

"I  mean  it,"  said  Gideon  cheerfully.  After  a  pause, 
in  which  he  unostentatiously  rearranged  the  table  which 
the  widow  was  abstractedly  disorganizing,  he  said  gently, 
"After  tea,  when  you  're  not  so  much  flustered  with  work 
and  worry,  and  more  composed  in  spirit,  we  '11  have  a  little 
talk,  Sister  Hiler.  I  'm  in  no  hurry  to-night,  and  if  you 
don't  mind  I  '11  make  myself  comfortable  in  the  barn  with 
my  blanket  until  sunup  to-morrow.  I  can  get  up  early 
enough  to  do  some  odd  chores  round  the  lot  before  I  go." 

"You  know  best,  Brother  Gideon,"  said  the  widow 
faintly,  "and  if  you  think  it's  the  Lord's  will,  and  no 


318  AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES 

speshal  trouble  to  you,  so  do.  But  sakes  alive !  it 's  time 
I  tidied  myself  a  little,"  she  continued,  lifting  one  hand 
to  her  hair,  while  with  the  other  she  endeavored  to  fasten 
a  buttonless  collar;  "leavin'  alone  the  vanities  o'  dress, 
it 's  ez  much  as  one  can  do  to  keep  a  clean  rag  on  with  the 
children  climbin'  over  ye.  Sit  by,  and  I  '11  be  back  in  a 
minit."  She  retired  to  the  back  room,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments returned  with  smoothed  hair  and  a  palm-leaf  broche' 
shawl  thrown  over  her  shoulders,  which  not  only  concealed 
the  ravages  made  by  time  and  maternity  on  the  gown  be- 
neath, but  to  some  extent  gave  her  the  suggestion  of  being 
a  casual  visitor  in  her  own  household.  It  must  be  con- 
fessed that  for  the  rest  of  the  evening  Sister  Hiler  rather 
lent  herself  to  this  idea,  possibly  from  the  fact  that  it  tem- 
porarily obliterated  the  children,  and  quite  removed  her  from 
any  responsibility  in  the  unpicturesque  household.  This 
effect  was  only  marred  by  the  absence  of  any  impression 
upon  Gideon,  who  scarcely  appeared  to  notice  the  change, 
and  whose  soft  eyes  seemed  rather  to  identify  the  miserable 
woman  under  her  forced  disguise.  He  prefaced  the  meal 
with  a  fervent  grace,  to  which  the  widow  listened  with 
something  of  the  conscious  attitude  she  had  adopted  at 
church  during  her  late  husband's  ministration,  and  during 
the  meal  she  ate  with  a  like  consciousness  of  "company 
manners. " 

Later  that  evening  Selby  Hiler  woke  up  in  his  little 
truckle  bed,  listening  to  the  rising  midnight  wind,  which 
in  his  childish  fancy  he  confounded  with  the  sound  of  voices 
that  came  through  the  open  door  of  the  living-room.  He 
recognized  the  deep  voice  of  the  young  minister,  Gideon, 
and  the  occasional  tearful  responses  of  his  mother,  and  he 
was  fancying  himself  again  at  church  when  he  heard  a 
step,  and  the  young  preacher  seemed  to  enter  the  room, 
and  going  to  the  bed  leaned  over  it  and  kissed  him  on  the 
forehead,  and  then  bent  over  his  little  brother  and  sister 


AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE  TULES  319 

and  kissed  them  too.  Then  he  slowly  reentered  the  living- 
room.  Lifting  himself  softly  on  his  elbow,  Selby  saw  him 
go  up  towards  his  mother,  who  was  crying,  with  her  head 
on  the  table,  and  kiss  her  also  on  the  forehead.  Then  he 
said  "  Good- night, "  and  the  front  door  closed,  and  Selby 
heard  his  footsteps  crossing  the  lot  towards  the  barn.  His 
mother  was  still  sitting  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands 
when  he  fell  asleep. 

She  sat  by  the  dying  embers  of  the  fire  until  the  house 
was  still  again;  then  she  rose  and  wiped  her  eyes.  "Et  's 
a  good  thing,"  she  said,  going  to  the  bedroom  door,  and 
looking  in  upon  her  sleeping  children;  "et  's  a  mercy  and 
a  blessing  for  them  and  —  for  —  me.  But  —  but  —  he 
might  —  hev  —  said  —  he  —  loved  me ! " 

m 

Although  Gideon  Deane  contrived  to  find  a  nest  for  his 
blanket  in  the  mouldy  straw  of  the  unfinished  barn  loft,  he 
could  not  sleep.  He  restlessly  watched  the  stars  through 
the  cracks  of  the  boarded  roof,  and  listened  to  the  wind 
that  made  the  half-open  structure  as  vocal  as  a  sea-shell, 
until  past  midnight.  Once  or  twice  he  had  fancied  he 
heard  the  tramp  of  horse-hoofs  on  the  far-off  trail,  and 
now  it  seemed  to  approach  nearer,  mingled  with  the  sound 
of  voices.  Gideon  raised  his  head  and  looked  through  the 
doorway  of  the  loft.  He  was  not  mistaken;  two  men  had 
halted  in  the  road  before  the  house,  and  were  examining 
it  as. if  uncertain  if  it  were  the  dwelling  they  were  seeking, 
and  were  hesitating  if  they  should  rouse  the  inmates. 
Thinking  he  might  spare  the  widow  this  disturbance  to  her 
slumbers,  and  possibly  some  alarm,  he  rose  quickly,  and 
descending  to  the  inclosure  walked  towards  the  house.  As 
he  approached  the  men  advanced  to  meet  him,  and  by  acci- 
dent or  design  ranged  themselves  on  either  side.  A  glance 
showed  him  they  were  strangers  to  the  locality. 


320  AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE   TULES 

"We're  lookin'  fer  the  preacher  that  lives  here,"  said 
one,  who  seemed  to  be  the  elder.  "  A  man  by  the  name  o' 
Hiler,  I  reckon!" 

"Brother  Hiler  has  been  dead  two  years,"  responded 
Gideon.  "His  widow  and  children  live  here." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other.  The  younger  one 
laughed;  the  elder  mumbled  something  about  its  being 
"three  years  ago,"  and  then  turning  suddenly  on  Gideon, 
said :  — 

"  P'r'aps  you  're  a  preacher  ?  " 

"I  am." 

"  Can  you  come  to  a  dying  man  ? " 

"I  will." 

The  two  men  again  looked  at  each  other.  "But,"  con- 
tinued Gideon  softly,  "  you  '11  please  keep  quiet  so  as  not 
to  disturb  the  widow  and  her  children  while  I  get  my 
horse. "  He  turned  away ;  the  younger  man  made  a  move- 
ment as  if  to  stop  him,  but  the  elder  quickly  restrained  his 
hand.  "He  isn't  goin'  to  run  away,"  he  whispered. 
"Look,"  he  added,  as  Gideon  a  moment  later  reappeared 
mounted  and  equipped. 

"Do  you  think  we '11  be  in  time?"  asked  the  young 
preacher  as  they  rode  quickly  away  in  the  direction  of  the 
tules. 

The  younger  repressed  a  laugh;  the  other  answered 
grimly,  "I  reckon." 

"And  is  he  conscious  of  his  danger? " 

"I  reckon." 

'Gideon  did  not  speak  again.  But  as  the  onus  of  that 
silence  seemed  to  rest  upon  the  other  two,  the  last  speaker, 
after  a  few  moments'  silent  and  rapid  riding,  continued 
abruptly,  "You  don't  seem  curious?" 

"  Of  what  ? "  said  Gideon,  lifting  his  soft  eyes  to  the 
speaker.  "  You  tell  me  of  a  brother  at  the  point  of  death, 
who  seeks  the  Lord  through  an  humble  vessel  like  myself. 
He  will  tell  me  the  rest." 


AN   APOSTLE  OF  THE    TULES  321 

A  silence  still  more  constrained  on  the  part  of  the  two 
strangers  followed,  which  they  endeavored  to  escape  from 
by  furious  riding;  so  that  in  half  an  hour  the  party  had 
reached  a  point  where  the  tules  began  to  sap  the  arid  plain, 
while  beyond  them  broadened  the  lagoons  of  the  distant 
river.  In  the  foreground,  near  a  clump  of  dwarfed  wil- 
lows, a  camp-fire  was  burning,  around  which  fifteen  or 
twenty  armed  men  were  collected,  their  horses  picketed  in 
an  outer  circle  guarded  by  two  mounted  sentries.  A 
blasted  cottonwood  with  a  single  black  arm  extended  over 
the  tules  stood  ominously  against  the  dark  sky. 

The  circle  opened  to  receive  them  and  closed  again. 
The  elder  man  dismounted,  and  leading  Gideon  to  the 
blasted  cottonwood,  pointed  to  a  pinioned  man  seated  at 
its  foot  with  an  armed  guard  over  him.  He  looked  up  at 
Gideon  with  an  amused  smile. 

"You  said  it  was  a  dying  man,"  said  Gideon,  recoiling. 

"He  will  be  a  dead  man  in  half  an  hour,"  returned  the 
stranger. 

"And  you?" 

"We  are  the  Vigilantes  from  Alamo.  This  man," 
pointing  to  the  prisoner,  "is  a  gambler  who  killed  a  man 
yesterday.  We  hunted  him  here,  tried  him  an  hour  ago, 
and  found  him  guilty.  The  last  man  we  hung  here,  three 
years  ago,  asked  for  a  parson.  We  brought  him  the  man 
who  used  to  live  where  we  found  you.  So  we  thought 
we  'd  give  this  man  the  same  show,  and  brought  you." 

"And  if  I  refuse?  "  said  Gideon. 

The  leader  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"That's  his  lookout,  not  ours.  We've  given  him  the 
chance.  Drive  ahead,  boys,"  he  added,  turning  to  the 
others;  "the  parson  allows  he  won't  take  a  hand." 

"One  moment,"  said  Gideon,  in  desperation,  "one  mo- 
ment, for  the  sake  of  that  God  you  have  brought  me  here 
to  invoke  in  behalf  of  this  wretched  man.  One  moment, 


322  AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES 

for  the  sake  of  Him  in  whose  presence  you  must  stand  one 
day  as  he  does  now."  With  passionate  earnestness  he 
pointed  out  the  vindictive  impulse  they  were  mistaking  for 
Divine  justice;  with  pathetic  fervency  he  fell  upon  his 
knees  and  implored  their  mercy  for  the  culprit.  But  in 
vain.  As  at  the  camp-meeting  of  the  day  before,  he  was 
chilled  to  find  his  words  seemed  to  fall  on  unheeding  and 
unsympathetic  ears.  He  looked  around  on  their  abstracted 
faces;  in  their  gloomy  savage  enthusiasm  for  expiatory 
sacrifice,  he  was  horrified  to  find  the  same  unreasoning 
exaltation  that  had  checked  his  exhortations  then.  Only 
one  face  looked  upon  his,  half  mischievously,  half  compas- 
sionately. It  was  the  prisoner's. 

"Yer  wastin'  time  on  us,"  said  the  leader  dryly; 
"wastin'  his  time.  Hadn't  you  better  talk  to  him? " 

Gideon  rose  to  his  feet,  pale  and  cold.  "He  may  have 
something  to  confess.  May  I  speak  with  him  alone  ?  "  he 
said  gently. 

The  leader  motioned  to  the  sentry  to  fall  back.  Gideon 
placed  himself  before  the  prisoner  so  that  in  the  faint  light 
of  the  camp-fire  the  man's  figure  was  partly  hidden  by  his 
own.  "You  meant  well  with  your  little  bluff,  pardner," 
said  the  prisoner,  not  unkindly,  "but  they  've  got  the  cards 
to  win." 

"Kneel  down  with  your  back  to  me,"  said  Gideon  in 
a  low  voice.  The  prisoner  fell  on  his  knees.  At  the  same 
time  he  felt  Gideon's  hand  and  the  gliding  of  steel  behind 
his  back,  and  the  severed  cords  hung  loosely  on  his  arms 
and  legs. 

"When  I  lift  my  voice  to  God,  brother,"  said  Gideon 
softly,  "  drop  on  your  face  and  crawl  as  far  as  you  can  in  a 
straight  line  in  my  shadow,  then  break  for  the  tules.  I 
will  stand  between  you  and  their  first  fire." 

"Are  you  mad?"  said  the  prisoner.  "Do  you  think 
they  won't  fire  lest  they  should  hurt  you?  Man!  they  '11 
kill  you,  the  first  thing." 


Break  for  the  Tules 


AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE  TULES  323 

"So  be  it  —  if  your  chance  is  better." 

Still  on  his  knees,  the  man  grasped  Gideon's  two  hands 
in  his  own  and  devoured  him  with  his  eyes. 

"You  mean  it?" 
'  "I  do." 

"Then,"  said  the  prisoner  quietly,  "I  reckon  I'll  stop 
and  hear  what  you  've  got  to  say  about  God  until  they  're 
ready." 

"  You  refuse  to  fly  ? " 

"I  reckon  I  was  never  better  fitted  to  die  than  now," 
said  the  prisoner,  still  grasping  his  hand.  After  a  pause 
he  added  in  a  lower  tone,  "I  can't  pray  —  but  —  I  think," 
he  hesitated  —  "I  think  I  could  manage  to  ring  in  in  a 
hymn. " 

"Will  you  try,  brother?" 

"Yes." 

With  their  hands  tightly  clasped  together,  Gideon  lifted 
his  gentle  voice.  The  air  was  a  common  one,  familiar  in 
the  local  religious  gatherings,  and  after  the  first  verse  one 
or  two  of  the  sullen  lookers-on  joined  not  unkindly  in  the 
refrain.  But  as  he  went  on  the  air  and  words  seemed  to 
offer  a  vague  expression  to  the  dull,  lowering  animal  emo- 
tion of  the  savage  concourse;  and  at  the  end  of  the  second 
verse  the  refrain,  augmented  in  volume  and  swelled  by 
every  voice  in  the  camp,  swept  out  over  the  hollow  plain. 

It  was  met  in  the  distance  by  a  far-off  cry.  With  an 
oath  taking  the  place  of  his  supplication,  the  leader  sprang 
to  his  feet.  But  too  late!  The  cry  was  repeated  as  a 
nearer  slogan  of  defiance  —  the  plain  shook  —  there  was  the 
tempestuous  onset  of  furious  hoofs  —  a  dozen  shots  —  the 
scattering  of  the  embers  of  the  camp-fire  into  a  thousand 
vanishing  sparks  even  as  the  lurid  gathering  of  savage  hu- 
manity was  dispersed  and  dissipated  over  the  plain,  and 
Gideon  and  the  prisoner  stood  alone.  But  as  the  sheriff  of 
Contra  Costa  with  his  rescuing  posse  swept  by,  the  man 


324  AN   APOSTLE   OF   THE   TULES 

they  had  come  to  save  fell  forward  in  Gideon's  arms  with 
a  bullet  in  his  breast  —  the  Parthian  shot  of  the  flying  Vigi- 
lante leader. 

The  eager  crowd  that  surged  around  him  with  out- 
stretched, helping  hands  would  have  hustled  Gideon  aside. 
But  the  wounded  man  roused  himself,  and  throwing  an  arm 
around  the  young  preacher's  neck,  warned  them  back  with 
the  other.  "Stand  back!"  he  gasped.  "He  risked  his 
life  for  mine  !  Look  at  him,  boys  !  Wanted  ter  stand 
up  'twixt  them  hounds  and  me  and  draw  their  fire  on  him- 
self!  Ain't  he  just  hell  ?  "  he  stopped;  an  apologetic  smile 
crossed  his  lips.  "I  clean  forgot,  pardner;  but  it's  all 
right.  I  said  I  was  ready  to  go;  and  I  am."  His  arm 
slipped  from  Gideon's  neck;  he  slid  to  the  ground;  he 
had  fainted. 

A  dark,  military-looking  man  pushed  his  way  through 
the  crowd  —  the  surgeon,  one  of  the  posse,  accompanied  by 
a  younger  man  fastidiously  dressed.  The  former  bent 
over  the  unconscious  prisoner,  and  tore  open  his  shirt;  the 
latter  followed  his  movements  with  a  flush  of  anxious  in- 
quiry in  his  handsome,  careless  face.  After  a  moment's 
pause  the  surgeon,  without  looking  up,  answered  the  young 
man's  mute  questioning.  "Better  send  the  sheriff  here 
at  once,  Jack." 

"He  is  here,"  responded  the  official,  joining  the  group. 

The  surgeon  looked  up  at  him.  "I  am  afraid  they  've 
put  the  case  out  of  your  jurisdiction,  sheriff,"  he  said 
grimly.  "It 's  only  a  matter  of  a  day  or  two  at  best  —  per- 
haps only  a  few  hours.  But  he  won't  live  to  be  taken 
back  to  jail." 

"  Will  he  live  to  go  as  far  as  Martinez  ? "  asked  the 
young  man  addressed  as  Jack. 

"With  care,  perhaps." 

"  Will  you  be  responsible  for  him,  Jack  Hamlin  ? "  said 
the  sheriff  suddenly. 


AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE   TITLES  325 

"I  will." 

"Then  take  him.      Stay,  he  's  coming  to." 

The  wounded  man  slowly  opened  his  eyes.  They  fell 
upon  Jack  Hamlin  with  a  pleased  look  of  recognition,  but 
almost  instantly  and  anxiously  glanced  around  as  if  seeking 
another.  Leaning  over  him,  Jack  said  gayly,  "They've 
passed  you  over  to  me,  old  man;  are  you  willing? " 

The  wounded  man's  eyes  assented,  but  still  moved  rest- 
lessly from  side  to  side. 

"  Is  there  any  one  you  want  to  go  with  you  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  the  eyes. 

"  The  doctor,  of  course  ?  " 

The  eyes  did  not  answer.  Gideon  dropped  on  his  knees 
beside  him.  A  ray  of  light  flashed  in  the  helpless  man's 
eyes  and  transfigured  his  whole  face. 

"  You  want  him  ?  "  said  Jack  incredulously. 

"Yes,"  said  the  eyes. 

"  What  —  the  preacher  ?  " 

The  lips  struggled  to  speak.  Everybody  bent  down  to 
hear  his  reply. 

"You  bet,"  he  said  faintly. 

IV 

It  was  early  morning  when  the  wagon  containing  the 
wounded  man,  Gideon,  Jack  Hamlin,  and  the  surgeon  crept 
slowly  through  the  streets  of  Martinez  and  stopped  before 
the  door  of  the  "Palmetto  Shades."  The  upper  floor  of 
this  saloon  and  hostelry  was  occupied  by  Mr.  Hamlin  as 
his  private  lodgings,  and  was  fitted  up  with  the  usual  lux- 
ury and  more  than  the  usual  fastidiousness  of  his  extrava- 
gant class.  As  the  dusty  and  travel-worn  party  trod  the 
soft  carpets  and  brushed  aside  the  silken  hangings  in  their 
slow  progress  with  their  helpless  burden  to  the  lace-cano- 
pied and  snowy  couch  of  the  young  gambler,  it  seemed  al- 
most a  profanation  of  some  feminine  seclusion.  Gideon, 


326  AN  APOSTLE   OF   THE  TITLES 

to  whom  such  luxury  was  unknown,  was  profoundly 
troubled.  The  voluptuous  ease  and  sensuousness,  the  re- 
finements of  a  life  of  irresponsible  indulgence,  affected  him 
with  a  physical  terror  to  which  in  his  late  moment  of  real 
peril  he  had  been  a  stranger;  the  gilding  and  mirrors 
blinded  his  eyes;  even  the  faint  perfume  seemed  to  him 
an  unhallowed  incense,  and  turned  him  sick  and  giddy. 
Accustomed  as  he  had  been  to  disease  and  misery  in  their 
humblest  places  and  meanest  surroundings,  the  wounded 
desperado  lying  in  laces  and  fine  linen  seemed  to  him  mon- 
strous and  unnatural.  It  required  all  his  self-abnegation, 
all  his  sense  of  duty,  all  his  deep  pity,  and  all  the  instinc- 
tive tact  which  was  born  of  his  gentle  thoughtfulness  for 
others,  to  repress  a  shrinking.  But  when  the  miserable 
cause  of  all  again  opened  his  eyes  and  sought  Gideon's 
hand,  he  forgot  it  all.  Happily,  Hamlin,  *who  had  been 
watching  him  with  wondering  but  critical  eyes,  mistook 
his  concern.  "Don't  you  worry  about  that  gin-mill  and 
hash- gymnasium  downstairs,"  he  said.  "I've  given  the 
proprietor  a  thousand  dollars  to  shut  up  shop  as  long  as 
this  thing  lasts."  That  this  was  done  from  some  delicate 
sense  of  respect  to  the  preacher's  domiciliary  presence,  and 
not  entirely  to  secure  complete  quiet  and  seclusion  for  the 
invalid,  was  evident  from  the  fact  that  Mr.  Hamlin's 
drawing  and  dining  rooms,  and  even  the  hall,  were  filled 
with  eager  friends  and  inquirers.  It  was  discomposing  to 
Gideon  to  find  himself  almost  an  equal  subject  of  interest 
and  curiosity  to  the  visitors.  The  story  of  his  simple  de- 
votion had  lost  nothing  by  report;  hats  were  doffed  in  his 
presence  that  might  have  grown  to  their  wearers'  heads; 
the  boldest  eyes  dropped  as  he  passed  by;  he  had  only 
to  put  his  pale  face  out  of  the  bedroom  door  and  the  loud- 
est discussion,  heated  by  drink  or  affection,  fell  to  a  whis- 
per. The  surgeon,  who  had  recognized  the  one  dominant 
wish  of  the  hopelessly  sinking  man,  gravely  retired,  leav- 


AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE   TULES  327^ 

ing  Gideon  a  few  simple  instructions  and  directions  for  their 
use.  "He  '11  last  as  long  as  he  has  need  of  you,"  he  said 
respectfully.  "  My  art  is  only  second  here.  God  help  you 
both !  When  he  wakes,  make  the  most  of  your  time. " 

In  a  few  moments  he  did  waken,  and  as  before  turned 
his  fading  look  almost  instinctively  on  the  faithful,  gentle 
eyes  that  were  watching  him.  How  Gideon  made  the 
most  of  his  time  did  not  transpire,  but  at  the  end  of  an 
hour,  when  the  dying  man  had  again  lapsed  into  uncon- 
sciousness, he  softly  opened  the  door  of  the  sitting-room. 

Hamlin  started  hastily  to  his  feet.  He  had  cleared  the 
room  of  his  visitors,  and  was  alone.  He  turned  a  moment 
towards  the  window  before  he  faced  Gideon  with  inquir- 
ing but  curiously  shining  eyes. 

"Well?"  he  said  hesitatingly. 

"  Do  you  know  Kate  Somers  ?  "  asked  Gideon. 

Hamlin  opened  his  brown  eyes.      "Yes." 

"  Can  you  send  for  her  1 " 

"What,  h&re?" 

"Yes,  here." 

"What  for?" 

"To  marry  him,"  said  Gideon  gently.  "There's  no 
time  to  lose." 

"  To  marry  him  ?  " 

"He  wishes  it." 

"But  say  —  oh,  come,  now,"  said  Hamlin  confidentially, 
leaning  back  with  his  hands  on  the  top  of  a  chair.  "Ain't 
this  playing  it  a  little  — just  a  little  —  too  low  down  ?  Of 
course  you  mean  well,  and  all  that;  but  come,  now,  say 
—  could  n't  you  just  let  up  on  him  there  1  Why,  she  "  — 
Hamlin  softly  closed  the  door  —  "she  's  got  no  character." 

"The  more  reason  he  should  give  her  one." 

A  cynical  knowledge  of  matrimony  imparted  to  him  by 
the  wives  of  others  evidently  colored  Mr.  Hamlin' s  views. 
"Well,  perhaps  it's  all  the  same  if  he's  going  to  die. 


328  AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE  TULES 

But  isn't  it  rather  rough  on  Tier?  I  don't  know,"  he 
added  reflectively ;  "  she  was  sniveling  round  here  a  little 
while  ago,  until  I  sent  her  away." 

"  You  sent  her  away !  "  echoed  Gideon. 

"I  did." 

"Why?" 

"Because  you  were  here." 

Nevertheless  Mr.  Hamlin  departed,  and  in  half  an 
hour  reappeared  with  two  brilliantly  dressed  women.  One, 
hysterical,  tearful,  frightened,  and  pallid,  was  the  destined 
bride;  the  other,  highly  colored,  excited,  and  pleasedly 
observant,  was  her  friend.  Two  men  hastily  summoned 
from  the  anteroom  as  witnesses  completed  the  group  that 
moved  into  the  bedroom  and  gathered  round  the  bed. 

The  ceremony  was  simple  and  brief.  It  was  well,  for 
of  all  who  took  part  in  it  none  was  more  shaken  by  emo- 
tion than  the  officiating  priest.  The  brilliant  dresses  of 
the  women,  the  contrast  of  their  painted  faces  with  the 
waxen  pallor  of  the  dying  man;  the  terrible  incongruity  of 
their  voices,  inflections,  expressions,  and  familiarity;  the 
mingled  perfume  of  cosmetics  and  the  faint  odor  of  wine; 
the  eyes  of  the  younger  woman  following  his  movements 
with  strange  absorption,  so  affected  him  that  he  was  glad 
when  he  could  fall  on  his  knees  at  last  and  bury  his  face 
in  the  pillow  of  the  sufferer.  The  hand  that  had  been 
placed  in  the  bride's  cold  fingers  slipped  from  them  and 
mechanically  sought  Gideon's  again.  The  significance  of 
the  unconscious  act  brought  the  first  spontaneous  tears  into 
the  woman's  eyes.  It  was  his  last  act,  for  when  Gideon's 
voice  was  again  lifted  in  prayer,  the  spirit  for  whom  it 
was  offered  had  risen  with  it,  as  it  Avere,  still  lovingly  hand 
in  hand,  from  the  earth  forever. 

The  funeral  was  arranged  for  two  days  later,  and  Gideon 
found  that  his  services  had  been  so  seriously  yet  so  humbly 
counted  upon  by  the  friends  of  the  dead  man  that  he  could 


AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE  TULES  329 

scarce  find  it  in  his  heart  to  tell  them  that  it  was  the  func- 
tion of  the  local  preacher  —  an  older  and  more  experienced 
man  than  himself.  "If  it  is,"  said  Jack  Hamlin  coolly, 
"I'm  afraid  he  won't  get  a  yaller  dog  to  come  to  his 
church;  but  if  you  say  you'll  preach  at  the  grave,  there 
ain't  a  man,  woman,  or  child  that  will  be  kept  away. 
Don't  you  go  back  on  your  luck,  now;  it's  something 
awful  and  nigger-like.  You  've  got  this  crowd  where  the 
hair  is  short;  excuse  me,  but  it's  so.  Talk  of  revivals! 
You  could  give  that  one-horse  show  in  Tasajara  a  hundred 
points,  and  skunk  them  easily."  Indeed  had  Gideon  been 
accessible  to  vanity,  the  spontaneous  homage  he  met  with 
everywhere  would  have  touched  him  more  sympathetically 
and  kindly  than  it  did;  but  in  the  utter  unconsciousness 
of  his  own  power  and  the  quality  they  worshiped  in  him, 
he  felt  alarmed  and  impatient  of  what  he  believed  to  be 
their  weak  sympathy  with  his  own  human  weakness.  In 
the  depth  of  his  unselfish  heart,  lit,  it  must  be  confessed, 
only  by  the  scant,  inefficient  lamp  of  his  youthful  experi- 
ence, he  really  believed  he  had  failed  in  his  apostolic  mis- 
sion because  he  had  been  unable  to  touch  the  hearts  of  the 
Vigilantes  by  oral  appeal  and  argument.  Feeling  thus, 
the  reverence  of  these  irreligious  people  that  surrounded 
him,  the  facile  yielding  of  their  habits  and  prejudices  to 
his  half- uttered  wish,  appeared  to  him  only  a  temptation  of 
the  flesh.  No  one  had  sought  him  after  the  manner  of  the 
camp-meeting ;  he  had  converted  the  wounded  man  through 
a  common  weakness  of  their  humanity.  More  than  that, 
he  was  conscious  of  a  growing  fascination  for  the  truthful- 
ness and  sincerity  of  that  class;  particularly  of  Mr.  Jack 
Hamlin,  whose  conversion  he  felt  he  could  never  attempt, 
yet  whose  strange  friendship  alternately  thrilled  and 
frightened  him. 

It  was  the  evening  before  the  funeral.      The  coffin,  half 
smothered  in  wreaths  and  flowers,  stood  upon  trestles  in 


330  AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE   TULES 

the  anteroom,  a  large  silver  plate  bearing  an  inscription  on 
which  for  the  second  time  Gideon  read  the  name  of  the 
man  he  had  converted.  It  was  a  name  associated  on  the 
frontier  so  often  with  reckless  hardihood,  dissipation,  and 
blood,  that  even  now  Gideon  trembled  at  his  presumption, 
and  was  chilled  by  a  momentary  doubt  of  the  efficiency  of 
his  labor.  Drawing  unconsciously  nearer  to  the  mute  sub- 
ject of  his  thoughts,  he  threw  his  arms  across  the  coffin  and 
buried  his  face  between  them. 

A  stream  of  soft  music,  the  echo  of  some  forgotten  song, 
seemed  to  Gideon  to  suddenly  fill  and  possess  the  darkened 
room,  and  then  to  slowly  die  away  like  the  opening  and 
shutting  of  a  door  upon  a  flood  of  golden  radiance.  He 
listened  with  hushed  breath  and  a  beating  heart.  He  had 
never  heard  anything  like  it  before.  Again  the  strain 
arose,  the  chords  swelled  round  him,  until  from  their  midst 
a  tenor  voice  broke  high  and  steadfast,  like  a  star  in 
troubled  skies.  Gideon  scarcely  breathed.  It  was  a  hymn 
—  but  such  a  hymn.  He  had  never  conceived  there  could 
be  such  beautiful  words,  joined  to  such  exquisite  melody, 
and  sung  with  a  grace  so  tender  and  true.  What  were  all 
other  hymns  to  this  ineffable  yearning  for  light,  for  love, 
and  for  infinite  rest?  Thrilled  and  exalted,  Gideon  felt 
his  doubts  pierced  and  scattered  by  that  illuminating  cry. 
Suddenly  he  rose,  and  with  a  troubled  thought  pushed 
open  the  door  to  the  sitting-room.  It  was  Mr.  Jack  Ham- 
lin  sitting  before  a  parlor  organ.  The  music  ceased. 

"It  was  you,"  stammered  Gideon. 

Jack  nodded,  struck  a  few  chords  by  way  of  finish,  and 
then  wheeled  round  on  the  music-stool  towards  Gideon. 
His  face  was  slightly  flushed.  "  Yes.  I  used  to  be  the 
organist  and  tenor  in  our  church  in  the  States.  I  used  to 
snatch  the  sinners  bald-headed  with  that.  Do  you  know 
I  reckon  I  '11  sing  that  to-morrow,  if  you  like,  and  maybe 
afterwards  we  '11  —  but "  —  he  stopped  —  "we  '11  talk  of 


AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE   TULES  331 

that  after  the  funeral.  It 's  business."  Seeing  Gideon  still 
glancing  with  a  troubled  air  from  the  organ  to  himself,  he 
said :  "  Would  you  like  to  try  that  hymn  with  me  ?  Come 
on!"  . 

He  again  struck  the  chords.  As  the  whole  room  seemed 
to  throb  with  the  music,  Gideon  felt  himself  again  carried 
away.  Glancing  over  Jack's  shoulders,  he  could  read  the 
words  but  not  the  notes;  yet,  having  a  quick  ear  for 
rhythm,  he  presently  joined  in  with  a  deep  but  uncultivated 
baritone.  Together  they  forgot  everything  else,  and  at  the 
end  of  an  hour  were  only  recalled  by  the  presence  of  a 
silently  admiring  concourse  of  votive-offering  friends  who 
had  gathered  round  them. 

The  funeral  took  place  the  next  day  at  the  grave  dug  in 
the  public  cemetery  —  a  green  area  fenced  in  by  the  pali- 
sading tules.  The  words  of  Gideon  were  brief  but  humble ; 
the  strongest  partisan  of  the  dead  man  could  find  no  fault 
in  a  confession  of  human  frailty  in  which  the  speaker 
humbly  confessed  his  share;  and  when  the  hymn  was 
started  by  Hamlin  and  taken  up  by  Gideon,  the  vast  mul- 
titude, drawn  by  interest  and  curiosity,  joined  as  in  a  sol- 
emn Amen. 

Later,  when  those  two  strangely  assorted  friends  had  re- 
turned to  Mr.  Hamlin's  rooms  previous  to  Gideon's  de- 
parture, the  former,  in  a  manner  more  serious  than  his 
habitual  cynical  good  humor,  began:  "I  said  I  had  to  talk 
business  with  you.  The  boys  about  here  want  to  build  a 
church  for  you,  and  are  ready  to  plank  the  money  down 
if  you  '11  say  it 's  a  go.  You  understand  they  are  n't  ask- 
ing you  to  run  in  opposition  to  that  Gospel  sharp  —  excuse 
me  —  that 's  here  now,  nor  do  they  want  you  to  run  a  side 
show  in  connection  with  it.  They  want  you  to  be  inde- 
pendent. They  don't  pin  you  down  to  any  kind  of  re- 
ligion, you  know ;  whatever  you  care  to  give  them  — 
Methodist,  Roman  Catholic,  Presbyterian  —  is  mighty 


332  AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE  TULES 

good  enough  for  them,  if  you  '11  expound  it.  You  might 
give  a  little  of  each,  or  one  on  one  day  and  one  another  — 
they  '11  never  know  the  difference  if  you  only  mix  the 
drinks  yourself.  They  '11  give  you  a  house  and  guarantee 
you  fifteen  hundred  dollars  the  first  year." 

He  stopped  and  walked  towards  the  window.  The  sun- 
light that  fell  upon  his  handsome  face  seemed  to  call  back 
the  careless  smile  to  his  lips  and  the  reckless  fire  to  his 
brown  eyes.  "I  don't  suppose  there  's  a  man  among  them 
that  would  n't  tell  you  all  this  in  a  great  deal  better  way 
than  I  do.  But  the  darned  fools  —  excuse  me  —  would 
have  me  break  it  to  you.  Why,  I  don't  know.  I  needn't 
tell  you  I  like  you  —  not  only  for  what  you  did  for 
George  —  but  I  like  you  for  your  style  —  for  yourself. 
And  I  want  you  to  accept.  You  could  keep  these  rooms 
till  they  got  a  house  ready  for  you.  Together  —  you  and 
me  —  we  'd  make  that  organ  howl.  But  because  I  like  it 

—  because  it 's  everything  to  us  —  and  nothing  to  you,  it 
don't  seem  square  for  me  to  ask  it.      Does  it? " 

Gideon  replied  by  taking  Hamlin's  hand.  His  face 
was  perfectly  pale,  but  his  look  collected.  He  had  not 
expected  this  offer,  and  yet  when  it  was  made  he  felt  as 
if  he  had  known  it  before  —  as  if  he  had  been  warned  of  it 

—  as  if  it  was  the  great  temptation  of  his  life.      Watching 
him  with    an    earnestness    only    slightly  overlaid    by  his 
usual  manner,  Hamlin  went  on :  — 

"I  know  it  would  be  lonely  here,  and  a  man  like  you 
ought  to  have  a  wife  for  "  —  he  slightly  lifted  his  eyebrows 

—  "for  example's  sake.      I  heard  there  was  a  young  lady 
in  the  case  over  there  in  Tasajara  —  but  the  old  people 
didn't  see  it  on  account  of  your  position.      They  'd  jump 
at  it   now.       Eh?      No?     Well,"    continued  Jack,   with 
a  decent  attempt  to  conceal  his    cynical  relief,    "perhaps 
those  boys  have  been  so  eager  to  find  out  all  they  could  do 
for  you  that  they  've  been  sold.     Perhaps  we  're  making 


AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE   TULES  333 

equal  fools  of  ourselves  now  in  asking  you  to  stay.  But 
don't  say  no  just  yet  —  take  a  day  or  a  week  to  think  of 
it." 

Gideon  still  pale  but  calm,  cast  his  eyes  around  the  ele- 
gant room,  at  the  magic  organ,  then  upon  the  slight  hand- 
some figure  before  him.  "I  will  think  of  it,"  he  said  in 
a  low  voice,  as  he  pressed  Jack's  hand.  "And  if  I  accept 
you  will  find  me  here  to-morrow  afternoon  at  this  time; 
if  I  do  not  you  will  know  that  I  keep  with  me  wherever  I 
go  the  kindness,  the  brotherly  love,  and  the  grace  of  God 
that  prompts  your  offer,  even  though  He  withholds  from 
me  His  blessed  light,  which  alone  can  make  me  know  His 
wish."  He  stopped  and  hesitated.  "If  you  love  me, 
Jack,  don't  ask  me  to  stay,  but  pray  for  that  light  which 
alone  can  guide  my  feet  back  to  you,  or  take  me  hence  for- 
ever." He  once  more  tightly  pressed  the  hand  of  the 
embarrassed  man  before  him  and  was  gone. 

Passers-by  on  the  Martinez  road  that  night  remembered 
a  mute  and  ghostly  rider  who,  heedless  of  hail  or  greeting, 
moved  by  them  as  in  a  trance  or  vision.  But  the  Widow 
Hiler  the  next  morning,  coming  from  the  spring,  found 
no  abstraction  or  preoccupation  in  the  soft  eyes  of  Gideon 
Deane  as  he  suddenly  appeared  before  her,  and  gently  re- 
lieved her  of  the  bucket  she  was  carrying.  A  quick  flush 
of  color  over  her  brow  and  cheek-bones,  as  if  a  hot  iron  had 
passed  there,  and  a  certain  astringent  coyness,  would  have 
embarrassed  any  other  man  than  him. 

"Sho,  it 's  you.     I  reck'ned  I  'd  seen  the  last  of  you." 

"You  don't  mean  that,  Sister  Hiler?"  said  Gideon, 
with  a  gentle  smile. 

"Well,  what  with  the  report  of  your  goin's  on  at  Marti- 
nez and  improvin'  the  occasion  of  that  sinner's  death,  and 
leadin'  a  revival,  I  reckoned  you  'd  hev  forgotten  low  folks 
at  Tasajara.  And  if  your  goin'  to  be  settled  there  in  a 
new  church,  with  new  hearers,  I  reckon  you  '11  want  new 


334  AN   APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES 

surroundings  too.  Things  change  and  young  folks  change 
with  'em." 

They  had  reached  the  house.  Her  breath  was  quick 
and  short  as  if  she  and  not  Gideon  had  borne  the  burden. 
He  placed  the  bucket  in  its  accustomed  place  and  then 
gently  took  her  hand  in  his.  The  act  precipitated  the  last 
drop  of  feeble  coquetry  she  had  retained,  and  the  old  tears 
took  its  place.  Let  us  hope  for  the  last  time.  For  as 
Gideon  stooped  and  lifted  her  ailing  babe  in  his  strong 
arms,  he  said  softly,  "Whatever  God  has  wrought  for  me 
since  we  parted,  I  know  now  He  has  called  me  to  but  one 
work." 

"  And  that  work  ?  "  she  asked  tremulously. 

"To  watch  over  the  widow  and  fatherless.  And  with 
God's  blessing,  sister,  and  His  holy  ordinance,  I  am  here 
to  stay." 


DEVIL'S  FOKD 

CHAPTER  I 

IT  was  a  season  of  unequaled  prosperity  in  Devil's 
Ford.  The  half  a  dozen  cabins  scattered  along  the  banks 
of  the  North  Pork,  as  if  by  some  overflow  of  that  capricious 
river,  had  become  augmented  during  a  week  of  fierce  ex- 
citement by  twenty  or  thirty  others,  that  were  huddled  to- 
gether on  the  narrow  gorge  of  Devil's  Spur,  or  cast  up  on 
its  steep  sides.  So  sudden  and  violent  had  been  the 
change  of  fortune,  that  the  dwellers  in  the  older  cabins  had 
not  had  time  to  change  with  it,  but  still  kept  their  old 
habits,  customs,  and  even  their  old  clothes.  The  flour- 
pan  in  which  their  daily  bread  was  mixed  stood  on  the  rude 
table  side  by  side  with  the  "prospecting  pans,"  half  full 
of  gold  washed  up  from  their  morning's  work;  the  front 
windows  of  the  newer  tenements  looked  upon  the  one 
single  thoroughfare,  but  the  back  door  opened  upon  the  un- 
cleared wilderness,  still  haunted  by  the  misshapen  bulk  of 
bear  or  the  nightly  gliding  of  catamount. 

Neither  had  success  as  yet  affected  their  boyish  simpli- 
city and  the  frankness  of  old  frontier  habits;  they  played 
with  their  new-found  riches  with  the  na'ive  delight  of  chil- 
dren, and  rehearsed  their  glowing  future  with  the  impor- 
tance and  triviality  of  schoolboys. 

"I've  bin  kalklatin',"  said  Dick  Mattingly,  leaning  on 
his  long- handled  shovel  with  lazy  gravity,  "that  when  I 
go  to  Rome  this  winter,  I  '11  get  one  o'  them  marble  sharps 
to  chisel  me  a  statoo  o'  some  kind  to  set  up  on  the  spot 
where  we  made  our  big  strike.  Suthin'  to  remember  it  by, 
rou  know." 


336  DEVIL'S  FORD 

"What  kind  o'  statoo  —  Washington  or  Webster?" 
asked  one  of  the  Kearney  brothers,  without  looking  up 
from  his  work. 

"No  —  I  reckon  one  o'  them  fancy  groups — one  o' 
them  Latin  goddesses  that  Fairfax  is  always  gassin'  about, 
sorter  leadin',  directin',  and  bossin'  us  where  to  dig." 

"You'd  make  a  healthy-lookin'  figger  in  a  group,"  re- 
sponded Kearney,  critically  regarding  an  enormous  patch 
in  Mattingly's  trousers.  "Why  don't  you  have  a  fountain 
instead  ? " 

"Where '11  you  get  the  water?"  demanded  the  first 
speaker,  in  return.  "You  know  there  ain't  enough  in  the 
North  Fork  to  do  a  week's  washing  for  the  camp  —  to  say 
nothin'  of  its  color." 

"Leave  that  to  me,"  said  Kearney,  with  self-possession. 
"When  I've  built  that  there  reservoir  on  Devil's  Spur, 
and  bring  the  water  over  the  ridge  from  Union  Ditch, 
there  '11  be  enough  to  spare  for  that." 

"  Better  mix  it  up,  I  reckon  —  have  suthin'  half  statoo, 
half  fountain,"  interposed  the  elder  Mattingly,  better 
known  as  "Maryland  Joe,"  "and  set  it  up  afore  the  Town 
Hall  and  Free  Library  I  'm  kalklatin'  to  give.  Do  that, 
and  you  can  count  on  me." 

After  some  further  discussion,  it  was  gravely  settled 
that  Kearney  should  furnish  water  brought  from  the 
Union  Ditch  twenty  miles  away,  at  a  cost  of  two  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  to  feed  a  memorial  fountain  erected  by 
Mattingly,  worth  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  as  a  crown- 
ing finish  to  public  buildings  contributed  by  Maryland  Joe, 
to  the  extent  of  half  a  million  more.  The  disposition  of 
these  vast  sums  by  gentlemen  wearing  patched  breeches 
awakened  no  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  nor  did  any  doubt,  re- 
servation, or  contingency  enter  into  the  plans  of  the  charm- 
ing enthusiasts  themselves.  The  foundation  of  their  airy 
castles  lay  already  before  them  in  the  strip  of  rich  alluvium 


DEVIL'S  FORD  337 

on  the  river  bank,  where  the  North  Fork,  sharply  curving 
round  the  base  of  Devil's  Spur,  had  for  centuries  swept 
the  detritus  of  gulch  and  cafion.  They  had  barely  crossed 
the  threshold  of  this  treasure-house,  to  find  themselves  rich 
men;  what  possibilities  of  affluence  might  be  theirs  when 
they  had  fully  exploited  their  possessions!  So  confident 
were  they  of  that  ultimate  prospect,  that  the  wealth  already 
thus  obtained  was  religiously  expended  in  engines  and 
machinery  for  the  boring  of  wells  and  the  conveyance  of 
that  precious  water  which  the  exhausted  river  had  long 
since  ceased  to  yield.  It  seemed  as  if  the  gold  they  had 
taken  out  was  by  some  ironical  compensation  gradually 
making  its  way  back  to  the  soil  again  through  ditch  and 
flume  and  reservoir. 

Such  was  the  position  of  affairs  at  Devil's  Ford  on  the 
13th  of  August,  1860.  It  was  noon  of  a  hot  day.  What- 
ever movement  there  was  in  the  stifling  air  was  seen  rather 
than  felt  in  a  tremulous,  quivering,  upward-moving  dust 
along  the  flank  of  the  mountain,  through  which  the  spires 
of  the  pines  were  faintly  visible.  There  was  no  water  in 
the  bared  and  burning  bars  of  the  river  to  reflect  the  verti- 
cal sun,  but  under  its  direct  rays  one  or  two  tinned  roofs 
and  corrugated  zinc  cabins  struck  fire,  a  few  canvas  tents 
became  dazzling  to  the  eye,  and  the  white  wooded  corral 
of  the  stage  office  and  hotel  insupportable.  For  two  hours 
no  one  ventured  in  the  glare  of  the  open,  or  even  to  cross 
the  narrow,  unshadowed  street,  whose  dull  red  dust  seemed 
to  glow  between  the  lines  of  straggling  houses.  The  heated 
shells  of  these  green  unseasoned  tenements  gave  out  a  pun- 
gent odor  of  scorching  wood  and  resin.  The  usual  hurried, 
feverish  toil  in  the  claim  was  suspended;  the  pick  and 
shovel  were  left  sticking  in  the  richest  "  pay  gravel ; "  the 
toiling  millionaires  themselves,  ragged,  dirty,  and  perspir- 
ing, lay  panting  under  the  nearest  shade,  where  their  pipes 
went  out  listlessly,  and  conversation  sank  to  monosyllables. 


338  DEVIL'S  FOED 

"There  's  Fairfax,"  said  Dick  Mattingly,  at  last,  with  a 
lazy  effort.  His  face  was  turned  to  the  hillside,  where  a 
man  had  just  emerged  from  the  woods,  and  was  halting 
irresolutely  before  the  glaring  expanse  of  upheaved  gravel 
and  glistening  boulders  that  stretched  between  him  and  the 
shaded  group.  "He's  going  to  make  a  break  for  it,"  he 
added,  as  the  stranger,  throwing  his  linen  coat  over  his 
head,  suddenly  started  into  an  Indian  trot  through  the 
pelting  sunbeams  toward  them.  This  strange  act  was  per- 
fectly understood  by  the  group,  who  knew  that  in  that  in- 
tensely dry  heat  the  danger  of  exposure  was  lessened  by 
active  exercise  and  the  profuse  perspiration  that  followed 
it.  In  another  moment  the  stranger  had  reached  their  side, 
dripping  as  if  rained  upon,  mopping  his  damp  curls  and 
handsome  bearded  face  with  his  linen  coat,  as  he  threw 
himself  pantingly  on  the  ground. 

"I  struck  out  over  here  first,  boys,  to  give  you  a  little 
warning,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  had  gained  breath. 
"  That  engineer  will  be  down  here  to  take  charge  as  soon  as 
the  six  o'clock  stage  comes  in.  He  's  an  oldish  chap,  has 
got  a  family  of  two  daughters,  and  —  I  —  am  —  d — d  if 
he  is  not  bringing  them  down  here  with  him." 

"Oh,  go  'long!"  exclaimed  the  five  men  in  one  voice, 
raising  themselves  on  their  hands  and  elbows,  and  glaring 
at  the  speaker. 

"  Fact,  boys !  Soon  as  I  found  it  out  I  just  waltzed  into 
that  Jew  shop  at  the  Crossing  and  bought  up  all  the 
clothes  that  would  be  likely  to  suit  you  fellows,  before  any- 
body else  got  a  show.  I  reckon  I  cleared  out  the  shop. 
The  duds  are  a  little  mixed  in  style,  but  I  reckon  they  're 
clean  and  whole,  and  a  man  might  face  a  lady  in  'em.  I 
left  them  round  at  the  old  Buckeye  Spring,  where  they  're 
handy  without  attracting  attention.  You  boys  can  go 
there  for  a  general  wash-up,  rig  yourselves  up  without  say- 
ing anything,  and  then  meander  back  careless  and  easy 


DEVIL'S  FORD  339 

in  your  store  clothes,  just  as  the  stage  is  coming  in, 
sabe  ? » 

"  Why  did  n't  you  let  us  know  earlier  1 "  asked  Mat- 
tingly  aggrievedly;  "you've  been  back  here  at  least  an 
hour." 

"I've  been  getting  some  place  ready  for  them,"  re- 
turned the  newcomer.  "We  might  have  managed  to  put 
the  man  somewhere,  if  he  'd  been  alone,  but  these  women 
want  family  accommodation.  There  was  nothing  left  for 
me  to  do  but  to  buy  up  Thompson's  saloon." 

"  No  ? "  interrupted  his  audience,  half  in  incredulity, 
half  in  protestation. 

"Fact!  You  boys  will  have  to  take  your  drinks  under 
canvas  again,  I  reckon !  But  I  made  Thompson  let  those 
gold-framed  mirrors  that  used  to  stand  behind  the  bar  go 
into  the  bargain,  and  they  sort  of  furnish  the  room.  You 
know  the  saloon  is  one  of  them  patent  houses  you  can  take 
to  pieces,  and  I  've  been  reckoning  you  boys  will  have  to 
pitch  in  and  help  me  to  take  the  whole  shanty  over  to  the 
laurel  bushes,  and  put  it  up  agin  Kearney's  cabin." 

"What 's  all  that?  "  said  the  younger  Kearney,  with  an 
odd  mingling  of  astonishment  and  bashful  gratification. 

"  Yes,  I  reckon  yours  is  the  cleanest  house,  because  it 's 
the  newest,  so  you  '11  just  step  out  and  let  us  knock  in  one 
o'  the  gables,  and  clap  it  on  to  the  saloon,  and  make  one 
house  of  it,  don't  you  see  ?  There  '11  be  two  rooms,  one 
for  the  girls  and  the  other  for  the  old  man." 

The  astonishment  and  bewilderment  of  the  party  had 
gradually  given  way  to  a  boyish  and  impatient  interest. 

"Had  n't  we  better  do  the  job  at  once  ?  "  suggested  Dick 
Mattingly. 

"Or  throw  ourselves  into  those  new  clothes,  so  as  to  be 
ready,"  added  the  younger  Kearney,  looking  down  at  his 
ragged  trousers.  "I  say,  Fairfax,  what  are  the  girls  like, 
eh?" 


340  DEVIL'S  FORD 

All  the  others  had  been  dying  to  ask  the  question,  yet 
one  and  all  laughed  at  the  conscious  manner  and  blushing 
cheek  of  the  questioner. 

"You'll  find  out  quick  enough,"  returned  Fairfax, 
whose  curt  carelessness  did  not,  however,  prevent  a  slight 
increase  of  color  on  his  own  cheek.  "We  'd  better  get  that 
job  off  our  hands  before  doing  anything  else.  So,  if  you  're 
ready,  boys,  we  '11  just  waltz  down  to  Thompson's  and 
pack  up  the  shanty.  He 's  out  of  it  by  this  time,  I 
reckon.  You  might  as  well  be  perspiring  to  some  purpose 
over  there  as  gaspin'  under  this  tree.  We  won't  go  back 
to  work  this  afternoon,  but  knock  off  now,  and  call  it  half 
a  day.  Come!  Hump  yourselves,  gentlemen.  Are  you 
ready  1  One,  two,  three,  and  away !  " 

In  another  instant  the  tree  was  deserted;  the  figures  of 
the  five  millionaires  of  Devil's  Ford,  crossing  the  fierce 
glare  of  the  open  space,  with  boyish  alacrity,  glistened  in 
the  sunlight,  and  then  disappeared  in  the  nearest  fringe  of 
thickets. 


CHAPTER  II 

Six  hours  later,  when  the  shadow  of  Devil's  Spur  had 
crossed  the  river,  and  spread  a  slight  coolness  over  the  flat 
beyond,  the  Pioneer  coach,  leaving  the  summit,  began  also 
to  bathe  its  heated  bulk  in  the  long  shadows  of  the  descent. 
Conspicuous  among  the  dusty  passengers,  the  two  pretty 
and  youthful  faces  of  the  daughters  of  Philip  Carr,  mining 
superintendent  and  engineer,  looked  from  the  windows  with 
no  little  anxiety  towards  their  future  home  in  the  strag- 
gling settlement  below,  that  occasionally  came  in  view  at 
the  turns  of  the  long  zigzagging  road.  A  slight  look  of 
comical  disappointment  passed  between  them  as  they  gazed 
upon  the  sterile  flat,  dotted  with  unsightly  excrescences 
that  stood  equally  for  cabins  or  mounds  of  stone  and  gravel. 
It  was  so  feeble  and  inconsistent  a  culmination  to  the 
beautiful  scenery  they  had  passed  through,  so  hopeless  and 
imbecile  a  conclusion  to  the  preparation  of  that  long  pic- 
turesque journey,  with  its  glimpses  of  sylvan  and  pastoral 
glades  and  canons,  that,  as  the  coach  swept  down  the  last 
incline,  and  the  remorseless  monotony  of  the  dead  level 
spread  out  before  them,  furrowed  by  ditches  and  indented  by 
pits,  under  cover  of  shielding  their  cheeks  from  the  impal- 
pable dust  that  rose  beneath  the  plunging  wheels,  they  buried 
their  faces  in  their  handkerchiefs,  to  hide  a  few  half-hys- 
terical tears.  Happily,  their  father,  completely  absorbed 
in  a  practical,  scientific,  and  approving  contemplation  of 
the  topography  and  material  resources  of  the  scene  of  his 
future  labors,  had  no  time  to  notice  their  defection.  It 
was  not  until  the  stage  drew  up  before  a  rambling  tene- 


342  DEVIL'S  FORD 

ment  bearing  the  inscription,  "Hotel  and  Stage  Office,"  that 
he  became  fully  aware  of  it. 

"We  can't  stop  here,  papa,"  said  Christie  Carr  decid- 
edly, with  a  shake  of  her  pretty  head.  "  You  can't  expect 
that." 

Mr.  Carr  looked  up  at  the  building;  it  was  half  grocery, 
half  saloon.  Whatever  other  accommodation  it  contained 
must  have  been  hidden  in  the  rear,  as  the  flat  roof  above 
was  almost  level  with  the  raftered  ceiling  of  the  shop. 
.  "Certainly,"  he  replied  hurriedly;  "we  '11  see  to  that  in 
a  moment.  I  dare  say  it 's  all  right.  I  told  Fairfax  we 
were  coming.  Somebody  ought  to  be  here." 

"But  they  're  not,"  said  Jessie  Carr  indignantly;  "and 
the  few  that  were  here  scampered  off  like  rabbits  to  their 
burrows  as  soon  as  they  saw  us  get  down." 

It  was  true.  The  little  group  of  Joungers  before  the 
building  had  suddenly  disappeared.  There  was  the  flash 
of  a  red  shirt  vanishing  in  an  adjacent  doorway;  the  fading 
apparition  of  a  pair  of  high  boots  and  blue  overalls  in  an- 
other; the  abrupt  withdrawal  of  a  curly  blonde  head  from 
a  sashless  window  over  the  way.  Even  the  saloon  was  de- 
serted, although  a  back  door  in  the  dim  recess  seemed  to 
creak  mysteriously.  The  stage-coach,  with  the  other  pas- 
sengers, had  already  rattled  away. 

"  I  certainly  think  Fairfax  understood  that  I "  —  began 
Mr.  Carr. 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  pressure  of  Christie's  fingers 
on  his  arm  and  a  subdued  exclamation  from  Jessie,  who 
was  staring  down  the  street. 

"What  are  they?"  she  whispered  in  her  sister's  ear. 
"  Nigger  minstrels,  a  circus,  or  what  ?  " 

The  five  millionaires  of  Devil's  Ford  had  just  turned  the 
corner  of  the  straggling  street,  and  were  approaching  in 
single  file.  One  glance  was  sufficient  to  show  that  they 
had  already  availed  themselves  of  the  new  clothing  bought 


DEVIL'S  FOED  343 

by  Fairfax,  had  washed,  and  one  or  two  had  shaved.  But 
the  result  was  startling. 

Through  some  fortunate  coincidence  in  size,  Dick  Mat- 
tingly  was  the  only  one  who  had  achieved  an  entire  suit. 
But  it  was  of  funereal  black  cloth,  and  although  relieved 
at  one  extremity  by  a  pair  of  high  riding-boots,  in  which 
his  too  short  trousers  were  tucked,  and  at  the  other  by  a 
tall  white  hat,  and  cravat  of  aggressive  yellow,  the  effect 
was  depressing.  In  agreeable  contrast,  his  brother,  Mary- 
land Joe,  was  attired  in  a  thin  fawn-colored  summer  over- 
coat, lightly  worn  open,  so  as  to  show  the  unstarched  bosom 
of  a  white  embroidered  shirt,  and  a  pair  of  nankeen  trou- 
sers and  pumps.  The  Kearney  brothers  had  divided  a  suit 
between  them,  the  elder  wearing  a  tightly  fitting,  single- 
breasted  blue  frock  coat  and  a  pair  of  pink  striped  cotton 
trousers,  while  the  younger  candidly  displayed  the  trousers 
of  his  brother's  suit,  as  a  harmonious  change  to  a  shining 
black  alpaca  coat  and  crimson  neckerchief.  Fairfax,  who 
brought  up  the  rear,  had,  with  characteristic  unselfishness, 
contented  himself  with  a  French  workman's  blue  blouse 
and  a  pair  of  white  duck  trousers.  Had  they  shown  the 
least  consciousness  of  their  finery,  or  of  its  absurdity,  they 
would  have  seemed  despicable.  But  only  one  expression 
beamed  on  the  five  sunburnt  and  shining  faces  —  a  look  of 
unaffected  boyish  gratification  and  unrestricted  welcome. 

They  halted  before  Mr.  Carr  and  his  daughters,  simul- 
taneously removed  their  various  and  remarkable  head  cov- 
erings, and  waited  until  Fairfax  advanced  and  severally 
presented  them.  Jessie  Carr's  half-frightened  smile  took 
refuge  in  the  trembling  shadows  of  her  dark  lashes;  Chris- 
tie Carr  stiffened  slightly,  and  looked  straight  before  her. 

"  We  reckoned  —  that  is  —  we  intended  to  meet  you  and 
the  young  ladies  at  the  grade,"  said  Fairfax,  reddening  a 
little  as  he  endeavored  to  conceal  his  too  ready  slang,  "and 
save  you  from  trapesing  —  from  dragging  yourselves  up 
grade  again  to  your  house." 


344  DEVIL'S  FORD 

"  Then  there  is  a  house  ?  "  said  Jessie,  with  an  alarmingly 
frank  laugh  of  relief,  that  was,  however,  as  frankly  re- 
flected in  the  boyishly  appreciative  eyes  of  the  young  men. 

"Such  as  it  is,"  responded  Fairfax,  with  a  shade  of 
anxiety,  as  he  glanced  at  the  fresh  and  pretty  costumes  of 
the  young  women,  and  dubiously  regarded  the  two  Saratoga 
trunks  resting  hopelessly  on  the  veranda.  "I  'm  afraid  it 
isn't  much,  for  what  you're  accustomed  to.  But,"  he 
added  more  cheerfully,  "it  will  do  for  a  day  or  two,  and 
perhaps  you  '11  give  us  the  pleasure  of  showing  you  the  way 
there  now." 

The  procession  was  quickly  formed.  Mr.  Carr,  alive 
only  to  the  actual  business  that  had  brought  him  there,  at 
once  took  possession  of  Fairfax,  and  began  to  disclose  his 
plans  for  the  working  of  the  mine,  occasionally  halting  to 
look  at  the  work  already  done  in  the  ditches,  and  to  ex- 
amine the  field  of  his  future  operations.  Fairfax,  not  dis- 
pleased at  being  thus  relieved  of  a  lighter  attendance  on 
Mr.  Carr's  daughters,  nevertheless  from  time  to  time  cast 
a  paternal  glance  backwards  upon  their  escorts,  who  had 
each  seized  a  handle  of  the  two  trunks,  and  were  carrying 
them  in  couples  at  the  young  ladies'  side.  The  occupation 
did  not  offer  much  freedom  for  easy  gallantry,  but  no  sign 
of  discomfiture  or  uneasiness  was  visible  in  the  grateful 
faces  of  the  young  men.  The  necessity  of  changing  hands 
at  times  with  their  burdens  brought  a  corresponding 
change  of  cavalier  at  the  lady's  side,  although  it  was  ob- 
served that  the  younger  Kearney,  for  the  sake  of  continu- 
ing a  conversation  with  Miss  Jessie,  kept  his  grasp  of  the 
handle  nearest  the  young  lady  until  his  hand  was  nearly  cut 
through,  and  his  arm  worn  out  by  exhaustion. 

"The  only  thing  on  wheels  in  the  camp  is  a  mule  wagon, 
and  the  mules  are  packin'  gravel  from  the  river  this  after- 
noon," explained  Dick  Mattingly  apologetically  to  Christie, 
"or  we'd  have  toted  —  I  mean  carried  —  you  and  your 


DEVIL'S  FORD  345 

up  to  the  shant  —  the  —  your  house.  Give  us  two 
weeks  more,  Miss  Carr  —  only  two  weeks  to  wash  up  our 
work  and  realize  —  and  we  '11  give  you  a  pair  of  2.40  step- 
pers and  a  skeleton  buggy  to  meet  you  at  the  top  of  the 
hill  and  drive  you  over  to  the  cabin.  Perhaps  you  'd  pre- 
fer a  regular  carriage;  some  ladies  do.  And  a  nigger 
driver.  But  what 's  the  use  of  planning  anything?  Afore 
that  time  comes  we  '11  have  run  you  up  a  house  on  the  hill, 
and  you  shall  pick  out  the  spot.  It  would  n't  take  long 
—  unless  you  preferred  brick.  I  suppose  we  could  get 
brick  over  from  La  Grange,  if  you  cared  for  it,  but  it  would 
take  longer.  If  you  could  put  up  for  a  time  with  some- 
thing of  stained  glass  and  a  mahogany  veranda  "  — 

In  spite  of  her  cold  indignation,  and  the  fact  that  she 
could  understand  only  a  part  of  Mattingly's  speech,  Chris- 
tie comprehended  enough  to  make  her  lift  her  clear  eyes  to 
the  speaker,  as  she  replied  freezingly  that  she  feared  she 
would  not  trouble  them  long  with  her  company. 

"Oh,  you'll  get  over  that,"  responded  Mattingly,  with 
an  exasperating  confidence  that  drove  her  nearly  frantic, 
from  the  manifest  kindliness  of  intent  that  made  it  impos- 
sible for  her  to  resent  it.  "I  felt  that  way  myself  at  first. 
Things  will  look  strange  and  unsociable  for  a  while,  until 
you  get  the  hang  of  them.  You  '11  naturally  stamp  round 
and  cuss  a  little  "  —  he  stopped  in  conscious  consternation. 

With  ready  tact,  and  before  Christie  could  reply,  Mary- 
land Joe  had  put  down  the  trunk  and  changed  hands  with 
his  brother. 

"You  mustn't  mind  Dick,  or  he  '11  go  off  and  kill  him- 
self with  shame,"  he  whispered  laughingly  in  her  ear. 
"He  means  all  right,  but  he's  picked  up  so  much  slang 
here  he  's  about  forgotten  how  to  talk  English,  and  it  'a 
nigh  on  to  four  years  since  he  's  met  a  young  lady." 

Christie  did  not  reply.  Yet  the  laughter  of  her  sister  in 
advance  with  the  Kearney  brothers  seemed  to  make  the 


346  DEVIL'S  FORD 

reserve  with  which  she  tried  to  crush  further  familiarity 
only  ridiculous. 

"Do  you  know  many  operas,  Miss  Carr?  " 

She  looked  at  the  boyish,  interested,  sunburnt  face  so 
near  to  her  own,  and  hesitated.  After  all,  why  should  she 
add  to  her  other  real  disappointments  by  taking  this  absurd 
creature  seriously? 

"In  what  way  ?  "  she  returned,  with  a  half  smile. 

"To  play.  On  the  piano,  of  course.  There  isn't  one 
nearer  here  than  Sacramento;  but  I  reckon  we  could  get  a 
small  one  by  Thursday.  You  could  n't  do  anything  on  a 
banjo?"  he  added  doubtfully;  "Kearney  's  got  one." 

"I  imagine  it  would  be  very  difficult  to  carry  a  piano 
over  those  mountains,"  said  Christie  laughingly,  to  avoid 
the  collateral  of  the  banjo. 

"We  got  a  billiard- table  over  from  Stockton,"  half  bash- 
fully interrupted  Dick  Mattingly,  struggling  from  his  end 
of  the  trunk  to  recover  his  composure,  "and  it  had  to  be 
brought  over  in  sections  on  the  back  of  a  mule,  so  I  don't 
see  why  "  —  He  stopped  short  again  in  confusion,  at  a 
sign  from  his  brother,  and  then  added,  "I  mean,  of  course, 
that  a  piano  is  a  heap  more  delicate,  and  valuable,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  but  it 's  worth  trying  for." 

"Fairfax  was  always  saying  he  'd  get  one  for  himself,  so 
I  reckon  it 's  possible,"  said  Joe. 

"Does  he  play?  "  asked  Christie. 

"You  bet,"  said  Joe,  quite  forgetting  himself  in  his  en- 
thusiasm. "He  can  snatch  Mozart  and  Beethoven  bald- 
headed." 

In  the  embarrassing  silence  that  followed  this  speech  the 
fringe  of  pine  wood  nearest  the  flat  was  reached.  Here 
there  was  a  rude  "  clearing, "  and  beneath  an  enormous  pine 
stood  the  two  recently  joined  tenements.  There  was  no 
attempt  to  conceal  the  point  of  junction  between  Kearney's 
cabin  and  the  newly  transported  saloon  from  the  flat  —  no 


DEVIL'S  FORD  347 

architectural  illusion  of  the  palpable  collusion  of  the  two 
buildings,  which  seemed  to  be  telescoped  into  each  other. 
The  front  room  or  living-room  occupied  the  whole  of 
Kearney's  cabin.  It  contained,  in  addition  to  the  neces- 
sary articles  for  housekeeping,  a  "  bunk  "  or  berth  for  Mr. 
Carr,  so  as  to  leave  the  second  building  entirely  to  the 
occupation  of  his  daughters  as  bedroom  and  boudoir. 

There  was  a  half-humorous,  half-apologetic  exhibition  of 
the  rude  utensils  of  the  living-room,  and  then  the  young 
men  turned  away  as  the  two  girls  entered  the  open  door 
of  the  second  room.  Neither  Christie  nor  Jessie  could 
for  a  moment  understand  the  delicacy  which  kept  these 
young  men  from  accompanying  them  into  the  room  they  had 
but  a  few  moments  before  decorated  and  arranged  with  their 
own  hands,  and  it  was  not  until  they  turned  to  thank  their 
strange  entertainers  that  they  found  that  they  were  gone. 

The  arrangement  of  the  second  room  was  rude  and 
bizarre,  but  not  without  a  singular  originality  and  even 
tastefulness  of  conception.  What  had  been  the  counter  or 
"  bar  "  of  the  saloon,  gorgeous  in  white  and  gold,  now  sawn 
in  two  and  divided,  was  set  up  on  opposite  sides  of  the 
room  as  separate  dressing-tables,  decorated  with  huge 
bunches  of  azaleas,  that  hid  the  rough  earthenware  bowls, 
and  gave  each  table  the  appearance  of  a  vestal  altar. 

The  huge  gilt  plate-glass  mirror  which  had  hung  behind 
the  bar  still  occupied  one  side  of  the  room,  but  its  length 
was  artfully  divided  by  an  enormous  rosette  of  red,  white, 
and  blue  muslin  —  one  of  the  surviving  Fourth  of  July 
decorations  of  Thompson's  saloon.  On  either  side  of  the 
door  two  pathetic-looking,  convent-like  cots,  covered  with 
spotless  sheeting,  and  heaped  up  in  the  middle,  like  a  snow- 
covered  grave,  had  attracted  their  attention.  They  were  still 
staring  at  them  when  Mr.  Carr  anticipated  their  curiosity. 

"I  ought  to  tell  you  that  the  young  men  confided  to  me 
the  fact  that  there  was  neither  bed  nor  mattress  to  be  had 


348  DEVIL'S  FORD 

on  the  Ford.  They  have  filled  some  flour-sacks  with  clean 
dry  moss  from  the  woods,  and  put  half  a  dozen  blankets 
on  the  top,  and  they  hope  you  can  get  along  until  the 
messenger  who  starts  to-night  for  La  Grange  can  bring 
some  bedding  over." 

Jessie  flew  with  mischievous  delight  to  satisfy  herself  of 
the  truth  of  this  marvel.  "It's  so,  Christie,"  she  said 
laughingly  —  "three  flour-sacks  apiece;  but  I 'm  jealous: 
yours  are  all  marked  '  superfine, '  and  mine  '  middlings. '  " 

Mr.  Carr  had  remained  uneasily  watching  Christie's 
shadowed  face. 

"What  matters?"  she  said  dryly.  "The  accommoda- 
tion is  all  in  keeping." 

"It  will  be  better  in  a  day  or  two,"  he  continued,  cast- 
ing a  longing  look  towards  the  door  —  the  first  refuge  of 
masculine  weakness  in  an  impending  domestic  emergency. 
"I  '11  go  and  see  what  can  be  done,"  he  said  feebly,  with 
a  sidelong  impulse  towards  the  opening  and  freedom. 
"I  've  got  to  see  Fairfax  again  to-night  anyway." 

"One  moment,  father,"  said  Christie  wearily.  "Did 
you  know  anything  of  this  place  and  these  —  these  people 
—  before  you  came  ?  " 

"Certainly  —  of  course  I  did,"  he  returned,  with  the 
sudden  testiness  of  disturbed  abstraction.  "What  are  you 
thinking  of  ?  I  knew  the  geological  strata  and  the  —  the 
report  of  Fairfax  and  his  partners  before  I  consented  to 
take  charge  of  the  works.  And  I  can  tell  you  that  there 
is  a  fortune  here.  I  intend  to  make  my  own  terms,  and 
share  in  it." 

"And  not  take  a  salary  or  some  sum  of  money  down?  " 
said  Christie,  slowly  removing  her  bonnet  in  the  same 
resigned  way. 

"I  am  not  a  hired  man,  or  a  workman,  Christie,"  said 
her  father  sharply.  "You  ought  not  to  oblige  me  to 
remind  you  of  that." 


DEVIL'S  FORD  349 

"  But  the  hired  men  —  the  superintendent  and  his  work- 
men —  were  the  only  ones  who  ever  got  anything  out  of 
your  last  experiment  with  Colonel  Waters  at  La  Grange, 
and  —  and  we  at  least  lived  among  civilized  people  there. " 

"These  young  men  are  not  common  people,  Christie; 
even  if  they  have  forgotten  the  restraints  of  speech  and 
manners,  they  're  gentlemen." 

"Who  are  willing  to  live  like  —  like  negroes." 

"You  can  make  them  what  you  please." 

Christie  raised  her  eyes.  There  was  a  certain  cynical 
ring  in  her  father's  voice  that  was  unlike  his  usual  hesitat- 
ing abstraction.  It  both  puzzled  and  pained  her. 

"I  mean,"  he  said  hastily,  "that  you  have  the  same 
opportunity  to  direct  the  lives  of  these  young  men  into 
more  regular,  disciplined  channels  that  I  have  to  regulate 
and  correct  their  foolish  waste  of  industry  and  material 
here.  It  would  at  least  beguile  the  time  for  you." 

Fortunately  for  Mr.  Carr's  escape  and  Christie's  uneasi- 
ness, Jessie,  who  had  been  examining  the  details  of  the 
living-room,  broke  in  upon  this  conversation. 

"I'm  sure  it  will  be  as  good  as  a  perpetual  picnic. 
George  Kearney  says  we  can  have  a  cooking-stove  under 
the  tree  outside  at  the  back,  and  as  there  will  be  no  rain 
for  three  months  we  can  do  the  cooking  there,  and  that 
will  give  us  more  room  for  —  for  the  piano  when  it  comes ; 
and  there  's  an  old  squaw  to  do  the  cleaning  and  washing- 
up  any  day  —  and  —  and  —  it  will  be  real  fun." 

She  stopped  breathlessly,  with  glowing  cheeks  and 
sparkling  eyes  —  a  charming  picture  of  youth  and  trustful- 
ness. Mr.  Carr  had  seized  the  opportunity  to  escape. 

"Eeally,  now,  Christie,"  said  Jessie  confidentially, 
when  they  were  alone,  and  Christie  had  begun  to  unpack 
her  trunk,  and  to  mechanically  put  her  things  away, 
"  they  're  not  so  bad. " 

"Who?"  asked  Christie. 


350  DEVIL'S  FORD 

"Why,  the  Kearneys,  and  Mattinglys,  and  Fairfax,  and 
the  lot,  provided  you  don't  look  at  their  clothes.  And 
think  of  it !  they  told  me  —  for  they  tell  one  everything  in 
the  most  alarming  way  —  that  those  clothes  were  bought  to 
please  us.  A  scramble  of  things  bought  at  La  Grange, 
without  reference  to  size  or  style.  And  to  hear  these 
creatures  talk,  why,  you  'd  think  they  were  Astors  or 
Eothschilds.  Think  of  that  little  one  with  the  curls  —  I 
don't  believe  he  's  over  seventeen,  for  all  his  baby  mus- 
tache —  says  he  's  going  to  build  an  assembly  hall  for  us  to 
give  a  dance  in  next  month;  and  apologizes  the  next 
breath  to  tell  us  that  there  isn't  any  milk  to  be  had 
nearer  than  La  Grange,  and  we  must  do  without  it,  and 
use  syrup  in  our  tea  to-morrow." 

"  And  where  is  all  this  wealth  1 "  said  Christie,  forcing 
herself  to  smile  at  her  sister !s  animation. 

"  Under  our  very  feet,  my  child,  and  all  along  the  river. 
Why,  what  we  thought  was  pure  and  simple  mud  is  what 
they  call  '  gold-bearing  cement. '  " 

"I  suppose  that  is  why  they  don't  brush  their  boots  and 
trousers,  it's  so  precious,"  returned  Christie  dryly.  "And 
have  they  ever  translated  this  precious  dirt  into  actual 
coin?" 

"Bless  you,  yes.  Why,  that  dirty  little  gutter,  you 
know,  that  ran  along  the  side  of  the  road  and  followed  us 
down  the  hill  all  the  way  here,  that  cost  them  —  let  me 
see  — yes,  nearly  sixty  thousand  dollars.  And  fancy! 
papa's  just  condemned  it  — says  it  won't  do;  and  they  've 
got  to  build  another." 

An  impatient  sigh  from  Christie  drew  Jessie's  attention 
to  her  troubled  eyebrows. 

"Don't  worry  about  our  disappointment,  dear.  It  isn't 
so  very  great.  I  dare  say  we  '11  be  able  to  get  along  here 
in  some  way,  until  papa  is  rich  again.  You  know  they 
intend  to  make  him  share  with  them." 


DEVIL'S  FORD  351 

"It  strikes  me  that  he  is  sharing  with  them  already," 
said  Christie,  glancing  bitterly  round  the  cabin;  "sharing 
everything  —  ourselves,  our  lives,  our  tastes." 

"  Ye-e-s ! "  said  Jessie,  with  vaguely  hesitating  assent. 
"  Yes,  even  these :  "  she  showed  two  dice  in  the  palm  of 
her  little  hand.  "I  found  'em  in  the  drawer  of  our  dress- 
ing-table." 

"Throw  them  away,"  said  Christie  impatiently. 

But  Jessie's  small  fingers  closed  over  the  dice.  "I'll 
give  them  to  the  little  Kearney.  I  dare  say  they  were  the 
poor  boy's  playthings." 

The  appearance  of  these  relics  of  wild  dissipation,  how- 
ever, had  lifted  Christie  out  of  her  sublime  resignation. 
"For  Heaven's  sake,  Jessie,"  she  said,  "look  around  and 
see  if  there  is  anything  more !  " 

To  make  sure,  they  each  began  to  scrimmage;  the 
broken-spirited  Christie  exhibiting  both  alacrity  and  pene- 
tration in  searching  obscure  corners.  In  the  dining- 
room,  behind  the  dresser,  three  or  four  books  were  discov- 
ered: an  odd  volume  of  Thackeray,  another  of  Dickens,  a 
memorandum-book  or  diary.  "This  seems  to  be  Latin," 
said  Jessie,  fishing  out  a  smaller  book.  "I  can't  read  it." 

"It 's  just  as  well  you  should  n't,"  said'Christie  shortly, 
whose  ideas  of  a  general  classical  impropriety  had  been 
gathered  from  the  pages  of  Lempriere's  dictionary.  "Put 
it  back  directly." 

Jessie  returned  certain  odes  of  one  Horatius  Flaccus  to 
the  corner,  and  uttered  an  exclamation.  "  Oh,  Christie ! 
here  are  some  letters  tied  up  with  a  ribbon." 

They  were  two  or  three  prettily  written  letters,  exhaling 
a  faint  odor  of  refinement  and  of  the  pressed  flowers  that 
peeped  from  between  the  loose  leaves.  "  I  see,  '  My  dar- 
ling Fairfax.'  It 's  from  some  woman." 

"I  don't  think  much  of  her,  whosoever  she  is,"  said 
Christie,  tossing  the  intact  packet  back  into  the  corner. 


352  DEVIL'S  FORD 

"Nor  I,"  echoed  Jessie. 

Nevertheless,  by  some  feminine  inconsistency,  evidently 
the  circumstance  did  make  them  think  more  of  him,  for 
a  minute  later,  when  they  had  reentered  their  own  room, 
Christie  remarked,  "The  idea  of  petting  a  man  by  his 
family  name !  Think  of  mamma  ever  having  called  papa 
'  darling  Carr  ' !  " 

"Oh,  but  his  family  name  isn't  Fairfax,"  said  Jessie 
hastily;  "that's  his  first  name,  his  Christian  name.  I 
forget  what 's  his  other  name,  but  nobody  ever  calls  him 
by  it." 

"Do  you  mean,"  said  Christie,  with  glistening  eyes  and 
awful  deliberation  —  "do  you  mean  to  say  that  we're 
expected  to  fall  in  with  this  insufferable  familiarity  ?  I 
suppose  they  '11  be  calling  us  by  our  Christian  names 
next." 

"Oh,  but  they  do!"  said  Jessie  mischievously. 

"What!" 

"  They  call  me  Miss  Jessie ;  and  Kearney,  the  little  one, 
asked  me  if  Christie  played." 

"And  what  did  you  say?  " 

"I  said  that  you  did,"  answered  Jessie,  with  an  affecta- 
tion of  cherubic  simplicity.  "You  do,  dear;  don't  you? 
.  .  .  There,  don't  get  angry,  darling;  I  couldn't  flare  up 
all  of  a  sudden  in  the  face  of  that  poor  little  creature;  he 
looked  so  absurd  —  and  so  —  so  honest." 

Christie  turned  away,  relapsing  into  her  old  resigned 
manner,  and  assuming  her  household  duties  in  a  quiet, 
temporizing  way  that  was,  however,  without  hope  or  ex- 
pectation. 

Mr.  Carr,  who  had  dined  with  his  friends  under  the 
excuse  of  not  adding  to  the  awkwardness  of  the  first  day's 
housekeeping,  returned  late  at  night  with  a  mass  of  papers 
and  drawings,  into  which  he  afterwards  withdrew,  but  not 
until  he  had  delivered  himself  of  a  mysterious  package 


DEVIL'S  FORD  353 

intrusted  to  him  by  the  young  men  for  his  daughters.  It 
contained  a  contribution  to  their  board  in  the  shape  of  a 
silver  spoon  and  battered  silver  mug,  which  Jessie  chose 
to  facetiously  consider  as  an  affecting  reminiscence  of  the 
youthful  Kearney's  christening  days  —  which  it  probably 
was. 

The  young  girls  retired  early  to  their  white  snow- 
drifts: Jessie  not  without  some  hilarious  struggles  with 
hers,  in  which  she  was,  however,  quickly  surprised  by  the 
deep  and  refreshing  sleep  of  youth;  Christie  to  lie  awake 
and  listen  to  the  night  wind,  that  had  changed  from  the 
first  cool  whispers  of  sunset  to  the  sturdy  breath  of  the 
mountain.  At  times  the  frail  house  shook  and  trembled. 
Wandering  gusts  laden  with  the  deep  resinous  odors  of  the 
wood  found  their  way  through  the  imperfect  jointure  of 
the  two  cabins,  swept  her  cheek  and  even  stirred  her  long, 
wide-open  lashes.  A  broken  spray  of  pine  needles  rustled 
along  the  roof,  or  a  pine  cone  dropped  with  a  quick  rever- 
berating tap-tap  that  for  an  instant  startled  her.  Lying 
thus,  wide  awake,  she  fell  into  a  dreamy  reminiscence  of 
the  past,  hearing  snatches  of  old  melody  in  the  moving 
pines,  fragments  of  sentences,  old  words,  and  familiar  epi- 
thets in  the  murmuring  wind  at  her  ear,  and  even  the  faint 
breath  of  long-forgotten  kisses  on  her  cheek.  She  remem- 
bered her  mother  —  a  pallid  creature,  who  had  slowly  faded 
out  of  one  of  her  father's  vague  speculations  in  a  vaguer 
speculation  of  her  own,  beyond  his  ken  —  whose  place  she 
had  promised  to  take  at  her  father's  side.  The  words, 
"Watch  over  him,  Christie;  he  needs  a  woman's  care," 
again  echoed  in  her  ears,  as  if  borne  on  the  night  wind 
from  the  lonely  grave  in  the  lonelier  cemetery  by  the  dis- 
tant sea.  She  had  devoted  herself  to  him  with  some  little 
sacrifices  of  self,  only  remembered  now  for  their  uselessness 
in  saving  her  father  the  disappointment  that  sprang  from 
his  sanguine  and  one-idea'd  temperament.  She  thought 


354  DEVIL'S  FORD 

of  him  lying  asleep  in  the  other  room,  ready  on  the  morrow 
to  devote  those  fateful  qualities  to  the  new  enterprise,  that 
with  equally  fateful  disposition  she  believed  would  end  in 
failure.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  that  the  doubts  of  her  own 
practical  nature  were  almost  as  dangerous  and  illogical  as 
his  enthusiasm,  and  that  for  that  reason  she  was  fast  losing 
what  little  influence  she  possessed  over  him.  With  the 
example  of  her  mother's  weakness  before  her  eyes,  she  had 
become  an  unsparing  and  distrustful  critic,  with  the  sole 
effect  of  awakening  his  distrust  and  withdrawing  his  confi- 
dence from  her.  He  was  beginning  to  deceive  her  as  he 
had  never  deceived  her  mother.  Even  Jessie  knew  more 
of  this  last  enterprise  than  she  did  herself. 

All  that  did  not  tend  to  decrease  her  utter  restlessness. 
It  was  already  past  midnight  when  she  noticed  that  the 
wind,  had  again  abated.  The  mountain  breeze  had  by  this 
time  possessed  the  stifling  valleys  and  heated  bars  of  the 
river  in  its  strong,  cold  embraces;  the  equilibrium  of  na- 
ture was  restored,  and  a  shadowy  mist  rose  from  the  hollow. 
A  stillness,  more  oppressive  and  intolerable  than  the  pre- 
vious commotion,  began  to  pervade  the  house  and  the 
surrounding  woods.  She  could  hear  the  regular  breathing 
of  the  sleepers;  she  even  fancied  she  could  detect  the  faint 
pulses  of  the  more  distant  life  in  the  settlement.  The  far- 
off  barking  of  a  dog,  a  lost  shout,  the  indistinct  murmur 
of  some  nearer  watercourse  —  mere  phantoms  of  sound  — 
made  the  silence  more  irritating.  With  a  sudden  resolu- 
tion she  arose,  dressed  herself  quietly  and  completely,  threw 
a  heavy  cloak  over  her  head  and  shoulders,  and  opened  the 
door  between  the  living-room  and  her  own.  Her  father 
was  sleeping  soundly  in  his  bunk  in  the  corner.  She 
passed  noiselessly  through  the  room,  opened  the  lightly 
fastened  door,  and  stepped  out  into  the  night. 

In  the  irritation  and  disgust  of  her  walk  hither,  she  had 
never  noticed  the  situation  of  the  cabin,  as  it  nestled  on 


DEVIL'S  FORD  355 

the  slope  at  the  fringe  of  the  woods;  in  the  preoccupation 
of  her  disappointment  and  the  mechanical  putting  away  of 
her  things,  she  had  never  looked  once  from  the  window  of 
her  room,  or  glanced  backward  out  of  the  door  that  she 
had  entered.  The  view  before  her  was  a  revelation  —  a 
reproach,  a  surprise  that  took  away  her  breath.  Over  her 
shoulders  the  newly  risen  moon  poured  a  flood  of  silvery 
light,  stretching  from  her  feet  across  the  shining  bars  of 
the  river  to  the  opposite  bank,  and  on  up  to  the  very 
crest  of  the  Devil's  Spur  —  no  longer  a  huge  bulk  of  crush- 
ing shadow,  but  the  steady  exaltation  of  plateau,  spur,  and 
terrace  clothed  with  replete  and  unutterable  beauty.  In 
this  magical  light  that  beauty  seemed  to  be  sustained  and 
carried  along  by  the  river  winding  at  its  base,  lifted  again 
to  the  broad  shoulder  of  the  mountain,  and  lost  only  in  the 
distant  vista  of  deathlike,  overcrowning  snow.  Behind 
and  above  where  she  stood  the  towering  woods  seemed  to 
be  waiting  with  opened  ranks  to  absorb  her  with  the  little 
cabin  she  had  quitted,  dwarfed  into  insignificance  in  the 
vast  prospect;  but  nowhere  was  there  another  sign  or  in- 
dication of  human  life  and  habitation.  She  looked  in  vain 
for  the  settlement,  for  the  rugged  ditches,  the  scattered 
cabins,  and  the  unsightly  heaps  of  gravel.  In  the  glamour 
of  the  moonlight  they  had  vanished;  a  veil  of  silver-gray 
vapor  touched  here  and  there  with  ebony  shadows  masked 
its  site.  A  black  strip  beyond  was  the  river  bank.  All 
else  was  changed.  With  a  sudden  sense  of  awe  and  lone- 
liness she  turned  to  the  cabin  and  its  sleeping  inmates  —  all 
that  seemed  left  to  her  in  the  vast  and  stupendous  domina- 
tion of  rock  and  wood  and  sky. 

But  in  another  moment  the  loneliness  passed.  A  new 
and  delicious  sense  of  an  infinite  hospitality  and  friendli- 
ness in  their  silent  presence  began  to  possess  her.  This 
same  slighted,  forgotten,  uncomprehended,  but  still  foolish 
and  forgiving  Nature  seemed  to  be  bending  over  her 


356  DEVIL'S  FORD 

frightened  and  listening  ear  with  vague  but  thrilling  mur- 
murings  of  freedom  and  independence.  She  felt  her  heart 
expand  with  its  wholesome  breath,  her  soul  fill  with  its 
sustaining  truth.  She  felt  — 

What  was  that? 

An  unmistakable  outburst  of  a  drunken  song  at  the 
foot  of  the  slope :  — 

"  Oh,  my  name  it  is  Johnny  from  Pike, 
I  'm  h — 11  on  a  spree  or  a  strike."  .  .  . 

She  stopped  as  crimson  with  shame  and  indignation  as 
if  the  viewless  singer  had  risen  before  her. 

"  I  knew  when  to  bet,  and  get  up  and  get! " 

"  Hush !     D— n  it  all.     Don't  you  hear  ?  » 

There  was  the  sound  of  hurried  whispers,  a  "No"  and 
"Yes,"  and  then  a  dead  silence. 

Christie  crept  nearer  to  the  edge  of  the  slope  in  the 
shadow  of  a  buckeye.  In  the  clearer  view  she  could  dis- 
tinguish a  staggering  figure  in  the  trail  below  who  had  evi- 
dently been  stopped  by  two  other  expostulating  shadows 
that  were  approaching  from  the  shelter  of  a  tree. 

"Sho!  —  didn't  know!" 

The  staggering  figure  endeavored  to  straighten  itself,  and 
then  slouched  away  in  the  direction  of  the  settlement. 
The  two  mysterious  shadows  retreated  again  to  the  tree,  and 
were  lost  in  its  deeper  shadow.  Christie  darted  back  to  the 
cabin,  and  softly  reentered  her  room. 

"I  thought  I  heard  a  noise  that  woke  me,  and  I  missed 
you,"  said  Jessie,  rubbing  her  eyes.  "Did  you  see  any- 
thing?" 

"No,"  said  Christie,  beginning  to  undress. 

"You  weren't  frightened,  dear?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  said  Christie,  with  a  strange  little 
laugh.  "Go  to  sleep." 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  five  impulsive  millionaires  of  Devil's  Ford  fulfilled 
not  a  few  of  their  most  extravagant  promises.  In  less 
than  six  weeks  Mr.  Carr  and  his  daughters  were  installed 
in  a  new  house,  built  near  the  site  of  the  double  cabin, 
which  was  again  transferred  to  the  settlement,  in  order  to 
give  greater  seclusion  to  the  fair  guests.  It  was  a  long, 
roomy,  one-storied  villa,  with  a  'not  unpicturesque  com- 
bination of  deep  veranda  and  trelliswork,  which  relieved 
the  flat  monotony  of  the  interior  and  the  barrenness  of  the 
freshly  cleared  ground.  An  upright  piano,  brought  from 
Sacramento,  occupied  the  corner  of  the  parlor.  A  suite  of 
gorgeous  furniture,  whose  pronounced  and  extravagant 
glories  the  young  girls  instinctively  hid  under  home-made 
linen  covers,  had  also  been  spoils  from  afar.  Elsewhere 
the  house  was  filled  with  ornaments  and  decorations  that 
in  their  incongruity  forcibly  recalled  the  gilded  plate-glass 
mirrors  of  the  bedroom  in  the  old  cabin.  In  the  hasty 
furnishing  of  this  Aladdin's  palace,  the  slaves  of  the  ring 
had  evidently  seized  upon  anything  that  would  add  to  its 
glory,  without  reference  always  to  fitness. 

"I  wish  it  didn't  look  so  cussedly  like  a  robber's  cave," 
said  George  Kearney,  when  they  were  taking  a  quiet  pre- 
liminary survey  of  the  unclassified  treasures,  before  the 
Carrs  took  possession. 

"Or  a  gambling  hell,"  said  his  brother  reflectively. 

"It's  about  the  same  thing,  I  reckon,"  said  Dick  Mat- 
tingly,  who  was  supposed,  in  his  fiery  youth,  to  have  en- 
countered the  similarity. 


358  DEVIL'S  FORD 

Nevertheless,  the  two  girls  managed  to  bestow  the  heter- 
ogeneous collection  with  tasteful  adaptation  to  their  needs. 
A  crystal  chandelier,  which  had  once  lent  a  fascinating 
illusion  to  the  game  of  monte,  hung  unlighted  in  the  broad 
hall,  where  a  few  other  bizarre  and  public  articles  were 
relegated.  A  long  red  sofa  or  bench,  which  had  done  duty 
beside  a  billiard- table,  found  a  place  here  also.  Indeed,  it 
is  to  be  feared  that  some  of  the  more  rustic  and  bashful 
youths  of  Devil's  Ford,  who  had  felt  it  incumbent  upon 
them  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  newcomers,  were  more 
at  ease  in  this  vestibule  than  in  the  arcana  beyond,  whose 
glories  they  could  see  through  the  open  door.  To  others, 
it  represented  a  recognized  state  of  probation  before  their 
re-entree  into  civilization  again.  "I  reckon,  if  you  don't 
mind,  miss,"  said  the  spokesman  of  one  party,  "ez  this  is 
our  first  call,  we  '11  sorter  hang  out  in  the  hall  yer,  until 
you're  used  to  us."  On  another  occasion,  one  Whiskey 
Dick,  impelled  by  a  sense  of  duty,  paid  a  visit  to  the  new 
house  and  its  fair  occupants,  in  a  fashion  frankly  recounted 
by  him  afterwards  at  the  bar  of  the  Tecumseh  Saloon. 

"You  see,  boys,  I  dropped  in  there  the  other  night, 
when  some  of  you  fellows  was  doin'  the  high-toned 
'  thank'e,  marm  '  business  in  the  parlor.  I  just  came  to 
anchor  in  the  corner  of  the  sofy  in  the  hall,  without  let- 
tin'  on  to  say  that  I  was  there,  and  took  up  a  Webster's 
Dictionary  that  was  on  the  table  and  laid  it  open  —  keer- 
less  like,  on  my  knees,  ez  if  I  was  sorter  consultin'  it  — 
and  kinder  dozed  off  there,  listenin'  to  you  fellows  gassin' 
with  the  young  ladies,  and  that  yer  Miss  Christie  just 
snakin'  music  outer  that  pianner,  and  I  reckon  I  fell 
asleep.  Anyhow,  I  was  there  nigh  on  to  two  hours.  It 's 
mighty  soothin',  them  fashionable  calls;  sorter  knocks  the 
old  camp  dust  outer  a  fellow,  and  sets  him  up  again. " 

It  would  have  been  well  if  the  new  life  of  the  Devil's 
Ford  had  shown  no  other  irregularity  than  the  harmless 


DEVIL'S  FORD  359 

eccentricities  of  its  original  locators.  But  the  news  of  its 
sudden  fortune,  magnified  by  report,  began  presently  to 
flood  the  settlement  with  another  class  of  adventurers.  A 
tide  of  waifs,  strays,  and  malcontents  of  old  camps  along 
the  river  began  to  set  towards  Devil's  Ford,  in  very  much 
the  same  fashion  as  the  debris,  drift,  and  alluvium  had 
been  carried  down  in  bygone  days  and  cast  upon  its  banks. 
A  few  immigrant  wagons,  diverted  from  the  highways  of 
travel  by  the  fame  of  the  new  diggings,  halted  upon  the 
slopes  of  Devil's  Spur  and  on  the  arid  flats  of  the  Ford, 
and  disgorged  their  sallow  freight  of  alkali-poisoned,  pre- 
maturely aged  women  and  children  and  maimed  and  fever- 
stricken  men.  Against  this  rude  form  of  domesticity  were 
opposed  the  chromo-tinted  dresses  and  extravagant  com- 
plexions of  a  few  single  unattended  women  —  happily  seen 
more  often  at  night  and  behind  gilded  bars  than  in  the 
garish  light  of  day  —  and  an  equal  number  of  pale-faced, 
dark-mustached,  well-dressed,  and  suspiciously  idle  men. 
A  dozen  rivals  of  Thompson's  saloon  had  sprung  up  along 
the  narrow  main  street.  There  were  two  new  hotels  —  one 
a  "Temperance  House,"  whose  ascetic  quality  was  confined 
only  to  the  abnegation  of  whiskey  —  a  rival  stage  office, 
and  a  small  one-storied  building,  from  which  the  "  Sierran 
Banner "  fluttered  weekly,  for  "  ten  dollars  a  year,  in  ad- 
vance." Insufferable  in  the  glare  of  a  Sabbath  sun,  bleak, 
windy,  and  flaring  in  the  gloom  of  a  Sabbath  night,  and 
hopelessly  depressing  on  all  days  of  the  week,  the  First 
Presbyterian  Church  lifted  its  blunt  steeple  from  the  bar- 
renest  area  of  the  flats,  and  was  hideous !  The  civic  im- 
provements so  enthusiastically  contemplated  by  the  five 
millionaires  in  the  earlier  pages  of  this  veracious  chronicle 
—  the  fountain,  reservoir,  town-hall,  and  free  library  —  had 
not  yet  been  erected.  Their  sites  had  been  anticipated  by 
more  urgent  buildings  and  mining  works,  unfortunately  not 
considered  in  the  sanguine  dreams  of  the  enthusiasts,  and, 


360  DEVIL'S  FORD 

more  significant  still,  their  cost  and  expense  had  been 
also  anticipated  by  the  enormous  outlay  of  their  earnings 
in  the  work  upon  Devil's  Ditch. 

Nevertheless,  the  liberal  fulfillment  of  their  promise  in 
the  new  house  in  the  suburbs  blinded  the  young  girls'  eyes 
to  their  shortcomings  in  the  town.  Their  own  remoteness 
and  elevation  above  its  feverish  life  kept  them  from  the 
knowledge  of  much  that  was  strange,  and  perhaps  disturb- 
ing to  their  equanimity.  As  they  did  not  mix  with  the 
immigrant  women  —  Miss  Jessie's  good-natured  intrusion 
into  one  of  their  half-nomadic  camps  one  day  having  been 
met  with  rudeness  and  suspicion  —  they  gradually  fell  into 
the  way  of  trusting  the  responsibility  of  new  acquaintances 
to  the  hands  of  their  original  hosts,  and  of  consulting  them 
in  the  matter  of  local  recreation.  It  thus  occurred  that 
one  day  the  two  girls,  on  their  way  to  the  main  street  for 
an  hour's  shopping  at  the  Ville  de  Paris  and  Variety  Store, 
were  stopped  by  Dick  Mattingly  a  few  yards  from  their 
house  with  the  remark  that,  as  the  county  election  was 
then  in  progress,  it  would  be  advisable  for  them  to  defer 
their  intention  for  a  few  hours.  As  he  did  not  deem  it 
necessary  to  add  that  two  citizens,  in  the  exercise  of  a 
freeman's  franchise,  had  been  supplementing  their  ballots 
with  bullets,  in  front  of  an  admiring  crowd,  they  knew 
nothing  of  the  accident  that  removed  from  Devil's  Ford  an 
entertaining  stranger,  who  had  only  the  night  before  par- 
taken of  their  hospitality. 

A  week  or  two  later,  returning  one  morning  from  a  stroll 
in  the  forest,  Christie  and  Jessie  were  waylaid  by  George 
Kearney  and  Fairfax,  and,  under  pretext  of  being  shown 
a  new  and  romantic  trail,  were  diverted  from  the  regular 
path.  This  enabled  Mattingly  and  Maryland  Joe  to  cut 
down  the  body  of  a  man  hanged  by  the  Vigilance  Commit- 
tee a  few  hours  before  on  the  regular  trail,  and  to  remon- 
strate with  the  committee  on  the  incompatibility  of  such 
exhibitions  with  a  maidenly  worship  of  nature. 


DEVIL'S  FOED  361 

"With  the  whole  county  to  hang  a  man  in,"  expostu- 
lated Joe,  "you  might  keep  clear  of  Carr's  woods." 

It  is  needless  to  add  that  the  young  girls  never  knew  of 
this  act  of  violence,  or  the  delicacy  that  kept  them  in 
ignorance  of  it.  Mr.  Carr  was  too  absorbed  in  business  to 
give  heed  to  what  he  looked  upon  as  a  convulsion  of  society 
as  natural  as  a  geological  upheaval,  and  too  prudent  to 
provoke  the  criticism  of  his  daughters  by  comment  in  their 
presence. 

An  equally  unexpected  confidence,  however,  took  its 
place.  Mr.  Carr  having  finished  his  coffee  one  morning,  lin- 
gered a  moment  over  his  perfunctory  paternal  embraces,  with 
the  awkwardness  of  a  preoccupied  man  endeavoring  by  the 
assumption  of  a  lighter  interest  to  veil  another  abstraction. 

"And  what  are  we  doing  to-day,  Christie1?"  he  asked, 
as  Jessie  left  the  dining-room. 

"  Oh,  pretty  much  the  usual  thing  —  nothing  in  particu- 
lar. If  George  Kearney  gets  the  horses  from  the  summit, 
we  're  going  to  ride  over  to  Indian  Spring  to  picnic.  Fair- 
fax—  Mr.  Munroe  —  I  always  forget  that  man's  real  name 
in  this  dreadfully  familiar  country  —  well,  he  's  coming  to 
escort  us,  and  take  me,  I  suppose  —  that  is,  if  Kearney 
takes  Jessie." 

"A  very  nice  arrangement,"  returned  her  father,  with  a 
slight  nervous  contraction  of  the  corners  of  his  mouth  and 
eyelids  to  indicate  mischievousness.  "I've  no  doubt 
they  '11  both  be  here.  You  know  they  usually  are  — ha! 
ha !  And  what  about  the  two  Mattinglys  and  Philip  Kear- 
ney, eh?"  he  continued;  "won't  they  be  jealous?" 

"It  isn't  their  turn,"  said  Christie  carelessly;  "besides, 
they  '11  probably  be  there." 

"And  I  suppose  they  're  beginning  to  be  resigned,"  said 
Carr,  smiling. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  talking  of,  father?" 

She  turned  her  clear  brown  eyes  upon  him,  and  was  re- 


362  DEVIL'S  FOED 

garding  him  with  such  manifest  unconsciousness  of  the  drift 
of  his  speech,  and,  withal,  a  little  vague  impatience  of  his 
archness,  that  Mr.  Carr  was  feebly  alarmed.  It  had  the 
effect  of  banishing  his  assumed  playfulness,  which  made 
his  serious  explanation  the  more  irritating. 

"Well,  I  rather  thought  that  —  that  young  Kearney  was 
paying  considerable  attention  to  —  to  —  to  Jessie,"  replied 
her  father,  with  hesitating  gravity. 

"What!  that  boy?" 

"Young  Kearney  is  one  of  the  original  locators,  and  an 
equal  partner  in  the  mine.  A  very  enterprising  young  fel- 
low. In  fact,  much  more  advanced  and  bolder  in  his  con- 
ceptions than  the  others.  I  find  no  difficulty  with  him." 

At  another  time  Christie  would  have  questioned  the  con- 
vincing quality  of  this  proof,  but  she  was  too  much  shocked 
at  her  father's  first  suggestion  to  think  of  anything  else. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,  father,  that  you  are  talking 
seriously  of  these  men  —  your  friends  —  whom  we  see  every 
day  —  and  our  only  company  ?  " 

"No,  no!"  said  Mr.  Carr  hastily;  "you  misunderstand., 
I  don't  suppose  that  Jessie  or  you  "  — 

"  Or  me  !     Am  I  included  ?  " 

"You  don't  let  me  speak,  Christie.  I  mean,  I  am  not 
talking  seriously,"  continued  Mr.  Carr,  with  his  most 
serious  aspect,  "of  you  and  Jessie  in  this  matter;  but  it 
may  be  a  serious  thing  to  these  young  men  to  be  thrown 
continually  in  the  company  of  two  attractive  girls." 

"I  understand  —  you  mean  that  we  should  not  see  so 
much  of  them,"  said  Christie,  with  a  frank  expression  of 
relief  so  genuine  as  to  utterly  discompose  her  father. 
"Perhaps  you  are  right,  though  I  fail  to  discover  any- 
thing serious  in  the  attentions  of  young  Kearney  to  Jessie 
—  or  —  whoever  it  may  be  —  to  me.  But  it  will  be  very 
easy  to  remedy  it,  and  see  less  of  them.  Indeed,  we  might 
begin  to-day  with  some  excuse." 


DEVIL'S  FORD  363 

"  Yes  —  certainly.  Of  course !  "  said  Mr.  Carr,  fully 
convinced  of  his  utter  failure,  but,  like  most  weak  crea- 
tures, consoling  himself  with  the  reflection  that  he  had  not 
shown  his  hand  or  committed  himself.  "Yes;  but  it 
would  perhaps  be  just  as  well  for  the  present  to  let  things 
go  on  as  they  were.  We  '11  talk  of  it  again  —  I'm  in  a 
hurry  now,"  and  edging  himself  through  the  door,  he 
slipped  away. 

"What  do  you  think  is  father's  last  idea?  "  said  Chris- 
tie, with,  I  fear,  a  slight  lack  of  reverence  in  her  tone,  as 
her  sister  reentered  the  room.  "He  thinks  George  Kear- 
ney is  paying  you  too  much  attention." 

"No!"  said  Jessie,  replying  to  her  sister's  half- inter- 
rogative, half-amused  glance  with  a  frank,  unconscious  smile. 

"  Yes,  and  he  says  that  Fairfax  —  I  think  it 's  Fairfax 
—  is  equally  fascinated  with  me. " 

Jessie's  brow  slightly  contracted  as  she  looked  curiously 
at  her  sister. 

"Of  all  things,"  she  said,  "I  wonder  if  any  one  has 
put  that  idea  into  his  dear  old  head.  He  could  n't  have 
thought  it  himself." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Christie  musingly;  "but  perhaps 
it 's  just  as  well  if  we  kept  a  little  more  to  ourselves  for  a 
while." 

"  Did  father  say  so  ?  "  said  Jessie  quickly. 

"No,  but  that  is  evidently  what  he  meant." 

"Ye-es,"  said  Jessie  slowly,  "unless"  — 

"  Unless  what  1 "  said  Christie  sharply.  "  Jessie,  you 
don't  for  a  moment  mean  to  say  that  you  could  possibly 
conceive  of  anything  else  ?  " 

"I  mean  to  say,"  said  Jessie,  stealing  her  arm  around 
her  sister's  waist  demurely,  "that  you  are  perfectly  right. 
We  '11  keep  away  from  these  fascinating  Devil's  Forders, 
and  particularly  the  youngest  Kearney.  I  believe  there 
has  been  some  ill-natured  gossip.  I  remember  that  the 


364  DEVIL'S  FORD 

other  day,  when  we  passed  the  shanty  of  that  Pike  County 
family  on  the  slope,  there  were  three  women  at  the  door, 
and  one  of  them  said  something  that  made  poor  little 
Kearney  turn  white  and  pink  alternately,  and  dance  with 
suppressed  rage.  I  suppose  the  old  lady  —  M'Corkle,  that 's 
her  name  —  would  like  to  have  a  share  of  our  cavaliers 
for  her  Euphemy  and  Mamie.  I  dare  say  it's  only  right; 
I  would  lend  them  the  cherub  occasionally,  and  you  might 
let  them  have  Mr.  Munroe  twice  a  week." 

She  laughed,  but  her  eyes  sought  her  sister's  with  a  cer- 
tain watchfulness  of  expression. 

Christie  shrugged  her  shoulders,   with  a   suggestion  of 


"Don't  joke.  We  ought  to  have  thought  of  all  this 
before." 

"  But  when  we  first  knew  them,  in  the  dear  old  cabin, 
there  wasn't  any  other  woman  and  nobody  to  gossip,  and 
that 's  what  made  it  so  nice.  I  don't  think  so  very  much 
of  civilization,  do  you  ?  "  said  the  young  lady  pertly. 

Christie  did  not  reply.  Perhaps  she  was  thinking  the 
same  thing.  It  certainly  had  been  very  pleasant  to  enjoy 
the  spontaneous  and  chivalrous  homage  of  these  men,  with 
no  further  suggestion  of  recompense  or  responsibility  than 
the  permission  to  be  worshiped;  but  beyond  that  she 
racked  her  brain  in  vain  to  recall  any  look  or  act  that  pro- 
claimed the  lover.  These  men,  whom  she  had  found  so 
relapsed  into  barbarism  that  they  had  forgotten  the  most 
ordinary  forms  of  civilization;  these  men,  even  in  whose 
extravagant  admiration  there  was  a  certain  loss  of  self- 
respect,  that  as  a  woman  she  would  never  forgive;  these 
men,  who  seemed  to  belong  to  another  race  —  impossible ! 
Yet  it  was  so. 

"What  construction  must  they  have  put  upon  her  fa- 
ther's acceptance  of  their  presents  —  of  their  company  — 
of  her  freedom  in  their  presence?  No!  they  must  have 


DEVIL'S  FORD  365 

understood  from  the  beginning  that  she  and  her  sister  had 
never  looked  upon  them  except  as  transient  hosts  and 
chance  acquaintances.  Any  other  idea  was  preposterous. 
And  yet "  — 

It  was  the  recurrence  of  this  "yet"  that  alarmed  her. 
For  she  remembered  now  that  but  for  their  slavish  devo- 
tion they  might  claim  to  be  her  equal.  According  to  her 
father's  account,  they  had  come  from  homes  as  good  as 
their  own;  they  were  certainly  more  than  her  equal  in  for- 
tune; and  her  father  had  come  to  them  as  an  employee,  un- 
til they  had  taken  him  into  partnership.  If  there  had  only 
been  sentiment  of  any  kind  connected  with  any  of  them! 
But  they  were  all  alike,  brave,  unselfish,  humorous  —  and 
often  ridiculous.  If  anything,  Dick  Mattingly  was  funni- 
est by  nature,  and  made  her  laugh  more.  Maryland  Joe, 
his  brother,  told  better  stories  (sometimes  of  Dick),  though 
not  so  good  a  mimic  as  the  other  Kearney,  who  had  a  fairly 
sympathetic  voice  in  singing.  They  were  all  good  looking 
enough ;  perhaps  they  set  store  on  that  —  men  are  so  vain ! 

And  as  for  her  own  rejected  suitor,  Fairfax  Munroe, 
except  for  a  kind  of  grave  and  proper  motherliness  about 
his  protecting  manner,  he  absolutely  was  the  most  indis- 
tinctive of  them  all.  He  had  once  brought  her  some  rare 
tea  from  the  Chinese  camp,  and  had  taught  her  how  to 
make  it;  he  had  cautioned  her  against  sitting  under  the 
trees  at  nightfall;  he  had  once  taken  off  his  coat  to  wrap 
around  her.  Eeally,  if  this  were  the  only  evidence  of 
devotion  that  could  be  shown,  she  was  safe ! 

"Well,"  said  Jessie,  "it  amuses  you,  I  see." 

Christie  checked  the  smile  that  had  been  dimpling  the 
cheek  nearest  Jessie,  and  turned  upon  her  the  face  of  an 
elder  sister. 

"Tell  me,  have  you  noticed  this  extraordinary  attention 
of  Mr.  Munroe  to  me  ?  " 

"  Candidly  ? "  asked  Jessie,  seating  herself  comfortably 


366  DEVIL'S  FORD 

on  the  table  sideways,  and  endeavoring  to  pull  her  skirt 
over  her  little  feet.  "  Honest  Injun  ?  " 

"Don't  be  idiotic,  and,  above  all,  don't  be  slangy!  Of 
course,  candidly." 

"Well,  no.      I  can't  say  that  I  have." 

"Then,"  said  Christie,  "why  in  the  name  of  all  that's 
preposterous,  do  they  persist  in  pairing  me  off  with  the 
least  interesting  man  of  the  lot  ?  " 

Jessie  leaped  from  the  table. 

"Come  now,"  she  said,  with  a  little  nervous  laugh, 
"he  's  not  so  bad  as  all  that.  You  don't  know  him.  But 
what  does  it  matter  now,  as  long  as  we  're  not  going  to  see 
them  any  more  ?  " 

"They  're  coming  here  for  the  ride  to-day,"  said  Chris- 
tie resignedly.  "Father  thought  it  better  not  to  break  it 
off  at  once." 

"Father  thought  so!  "  echoed  Jessie,  stopping,  with  her 
hand  on  the  door. 

"Yes;  why  do  you  ask?  " 

But  Jessie  had  already  left  the  room,  and  was  singing  in 
thehalL 


CHAPTEE  IV 

THE  afternoon  did  not,  however,  bring  their  expected 
visitors.  It  brought,  instead,  a  brief  note  by  the  hands  of 
"Whiskey  Dick  from  Fairfax,  apologizing  for  some  business 
that  kept  him  and  George  Kearney  from  accompanying  the 
ladies.  It  added  that  the  horses  were  at  the  disposal  of 
themselves  and  any  escort  they  might  select,  if  they  would 
kindly  give  the  message  to  Whiskey  Dick. 

The  two  girls  looked  at  each  other  awkwardly;  Jessie 
did  not  attempt  to  conceal  a  slight  pout. 

"It  looks  as  if  they  were  anticipating  us,"  she  said, 
with  a  half-forced  smile.  "I  wonder,  now,  if  there  really 
has  been  any  gossip?  But  no!  They  wouldn't  have 
stopped  for  that,  unless  "  —  She  looked  curiously  at  her 
sister. 

"Unless  what?"  repeated  Christie;  "you  are  horribly 
mysterious  this  morning." 

"Am  I?  It's  nothing.  But  they're  wanting  an  an- 
swer. Of  course  you  '11  decline." 

"And  intimate  we  only  care  for  their  company!  No! 
We  '11  say  we  're  sorry  they  can't  come,  and  —  accept 
their  horses.  We  can  do  without  an  escort,  we  two." 

"Capital!"  said  Jessie,  clapping  her  hands.  "We'll 
show  them  "  — 

"We'll  show  them  nothing,"  interrupted  Christie  de- 
cidedly. "In  our  place  there  's  only  the  one  thing  to  do. 
Where  is  this  —  Whiskey  Dick  ?  " 

"In  the  parlor." 

"The  parlor!"  echoed  Christie.  "Whiskey  Dick? 
What  — is  he"  — 


368  DEVIL'S  FORD 

"Yes;  he  's  all  right,"  said  Jessie  confidently.  "He  'a 
heen  here  before,  hut  he  stayed  in  the  hall;  he  was  so  shy. 
I  don't  think  you  saw  him." 

"I  should  think  not  — Whiskey  Dick!" 

"  Oh,  you  can  call  him  Mr.  Hall,  if  you  like, "  said  Jes- 
sie, laughing.  "His  real  name  is  Dick  Hall.  If  you 
want  to  be  funny,  you  can  say  Alky  Hall,  as  the  others 
do." 

Christie's  only  reply  to  this  levity  was  a  look  of  su- 
perior resignation  as  she  crossed  the  hall  and  entered  the 
parlor. 

Then  ensued  one  of  those  surprising,  mystifying,  and 
utterly  inexplicable  changes  that  leave  the  masculine  being 
so  helpless  in  the  hands  of  his  feminine  master.  Before 
Christie  opened  the  door  her  face  underwent  a  rapid  trans- 
formation: the  gentle  glow  of  a  refined  woman's  welcome 
suddenly  beamed  in  her  interested  eyes;  the  impulsive 
courtesy  of  an  expectant  hostess  eagerly  seizing  a  long- 
looked-for  opportunity  broke  in  a  smile  upon  her  lips  as  she 
swept  across  the  room,  and  stopped  with  her  two  white 
outstretched  hands  before  Whiskey  Dick. 

It  needed  only  the  extravagant  contrast  presented  by 
that  gentleman  to  complete  the  tableau.  Attired  in  a  suit 
of  shining  black  alpaca,  the  visitor  had  evidently  prepared 
himself  with  some  care  for  a  possible  interview.  He  was 
seated  by  the  French  window  opening  upon  the  veranda, 
as  if  to  secure  a  retreat  in  case  of  an  emergency.  Scrupu- 
lously washed  and  shaven,  some  of  the  soap  appeared  to 
have  lingered  in  his  eyes  and  inflamed  the  lids,  even  while 
it  lent  a  sleek  and  shining  lustre,  not  unlike  his  coat,  to 
his  smooth  black  hair.  Nevertheless,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair,  he  had  allowed  a  large  white  handkerchief  to  depend 
gracefully  from  his  fingers  —  a  pose  at  once  suggesting  easy 
and  elegant  languor. 

"How  kind  of  you  to  give  me  an  opportunity  to  make 


DEVIL'S  FORD  369 

up  for  my  misfortune  when  you  last  called !  I  was  so  sorry 
to  have  missed  you.  But  it  was  entirely  my  fault !  You 
were  hurried,  I  think  —  you  conversed  with  others  in  the 
hall  —  you  "  — 

She  stopped  to  assist  him  to  pick  up  the  handkerchief 
that  had  fallen,  and  the  Panama  hat  that  had  rolled  from 
his  lap  towards  the  window  when  he  had  started  suddenly 
to  his  feet  at  the  apparition  of  grace  and  beauty.  As  he 
still  nervously  retained  the  two  hands  he  had  grasped,  this 
would  have  been  a  difficult  feat,  even  had  he  not  endea- 
vored at  the  same  moment,  by  a  backward  furtive  kick,  to 
propel  the  hat  out  of  the  window,  at  which  she  laughingly 
broke  from  his  grasp  and  flew  to  the  rescue. 

"Don't  mind  it,  miss,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "It  is  not 
worth  your  demeaning  yourself  to  touch  it.  Leave  it  out- 
side thar,  miss.  I  wouldn't  have  toted  it  in,  anyhow,  if 
some  of  those  highfalutin'  fellows  had  n't  allowed,  the 
other  night,  ez  it  were  the  reg'lar  thing  to  do;  as  if,  miss, 
any  gentleman  kalkilated  to  ever  put  on  his  hat  in  the 
house  afore  a  lady !  " 

But  Christie  had  already  possessed  herself  of  the  unlucky 
object,  and  had  placed  it  upon  the  table.  This  compelled 
Whiskey  Dick  to  rise  again,  and  as  an  act  of  careless  good 
breeding  to  drop  his  handkerchief  in  it.  He  then  leaned 
one  elbow  upon  the  piano,  and  crossing  one  foot  over  the 
other,  remained  standing  in  an  attitude  he  remembered  to 
have  seen  in  the  pages  of  an  illustrated  paper  as  portraying 
the  hero  in  some  drawing-room  scene.  It  was  easy  and 
effective,  but  seemed  to  be  more  favorable  to  reverie  than 
conversation.  Indeed,  he  remembered  that  he  had  forgot- 
ten to  consult  the  letterpress  as  to  which  it  represented. 

"I  see  you  agree  with  me,  that  politeness  is  quite  a  mat- 
ter of  intention,"  said  Christie,  "and  not  of  mere  fashion 
and  rules.  Now,  for  instance,"  she  continued,  with  a 
dazzling  smile,  "I  suppose,  according  to  the  rules,  I  ought 


870  DEVIL'S  FORD 

to  give  you  a  note  to  Mr.  Munroe,  accepting  his  offer. 
That  is  all  that  is  required;  but  it  seems  so  much  nicer  — 
don't  you  think  ?  —  to  tell  it  to  you  for  him,  and  have  the 
pleasure  of  your  company  and  a  little  chat  at  the  same 
time." 

"That 's  it, that 's  just  it,  Miss  Carr;  you  've  hit  it  in  the 
centre  this  time, "  said  Whiskey  Dick,  now  quite  convinced 
that  his  attitude  was  not  intended  for  eloquence,  and 
shifting  back  to  his  own  seat,  hat  and  all;  "that's  tanta- 
mount to  what  I  said  to  the  boys  just  now.  '  You  want 
an  excuse, '  sez  I,  '  for  not  goin'  out  with  the  young  ladies. 
So,  accorden'  to  rules,  you  writes,  a  letter  allowin'  buzzi- 
ness  and  that  sorter  thing  detains  you.  But  wot 's  the 
facts  ?  You  're  a  gentleman,  and  as  gentlemen  you  and 
George  comes  to  the  opinion  that  you  're  rather  playin'  it 
for  all  it 's  worth  in  this  yer  house,  you  know  —  comin' 
here  night  and  day,  off  and  on,  reg'lar  sociable  and  fam'ly 
like,  and  makin'  people  talk  about  things  they  ain't  any 
call  to  talk  about,  and,  what 's  a  darned  sight  more,  you 
fellows  ain't  got  any  right  yet  to  allow  'em  to  talk  about, 
d'  ye  see  ? '  "  He  paused,  out  of  breath. 

It  was  Miss  Christie's  turn  to  move  about.  In  changing 
her  seat  to  the  piano-stool,  so  as  to  be  nearer  her  visitor, 
she  brushed  down  some  loose  music,  which  Whiskey  Dick 
hastened  to  pick  up. 

"Pray  don't  mind  it,"  she  said,  "pray  don't,  really  — 
let  it  be  "  —  But  Whiskey  Dick,  feeling  himself  on  safe 
ground  in  this  attention,  persisted  to  the  bitter  end  of  a  dis- 
integrated and  well-worn  "Trovatore."  "So  that  is  what 
Mr.  Munroe  said,"  she  remarked  quietly. 

"Not  just  then,  in  course,  but  it's  what's  bin  on  his 
mind  and  in  his  talk  for  days  off  and  on,"  returned  Dick, 
with  a  knowing  smile  and  a  nod  of  mysterious  confidence. 
"  Bless  your  soul,  Miss  Carr,  folks  like  you  and  me  don't 
need  to  have  them  things  explained.  That 's  what  I  said 


DEVIL'S  FORD  371 

to  him,  sez  I.  '  Don't  send  no  note,  but  just  go  up  there 
and  hev  it  out  fair  and  square,  and  say  what  you  do  mean. ' 
But  they  would  hev  the  note,  and  I  kalkilated  to  bring  it. 
But  when  I  set  my  eyes  on  you,  and  heard  you  express 
yourself  as  you  did  just  now,  I  sez  to  myself,  sez  I,  '  Dick, 
yer  's  a  young  lady,  and  a  fash'nable  lady  at  that,  ez  don't 
go  foolin'  round  on  rules  and  etiketts  '  —  excuse  my  free- 
dom, Miss  Carr —  '  and  you  and  her,'  sez  I,  '  kin  just  dis- 
cuss this  yer  matter  in  a  sociable,  off-hand,  fash'nable  way. ' 
They  're  a  good  lot  o'  boys,  Miss  Carr,  a  square  lot  — 
white  men  all  of  'em;  but  they  're  a  little  soft  and  green, 
maybe,  from  livin'  in  these  yer  pine  woods  along  o'  the 
other  sap.  They  just  worship  the  ground  you  and  your 
sister  tread  on  —  certain !  of  course !  of  course !  "  he  added 
hurriedly,  recognizing  Christie's  half-conscious,  deprecating 
gesture  with  more  exaggerated  deprecation.  "  I  understand. 
But  what  I  wanter  say  is  that  they  'd  be  willin'  to  be  that 
ground,  and  lie  down  and  let  you  walk  over  them  —  so  to 
speak,  Miss  Carr,  so  to  speak  —  if  it  would  keep  the  hem 
of  your  gown  from  gettin'  soiled  in  the  mud  o'  the  camp. 
But  it  would  n't  do  for  them  to  make  a  reg'lar  curderoy 
road  o'  themselves  for  the  huol  camp  to  trapse  over,  on 
the  mere  chance  of  your  some  time  passin'  that  way,  would 
it  now  1 " 

"Won't  you  let  me  offer  you  some  refreshment,  Mr. 
Hall?"  said  Christie,  rising,  with  a  slight  color.  "I'm 
really  ashamed  of  my  forgetfulness  again,  but  I  'm  afraid 
it 's  partly  your  fault  for  entertaining  me  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  yourself.  No,  thank  you,  let  me  fetch  it  for 
you. " 

She  turned  to  a  handsome  sideboard  near  the  door,  and 
presently  faced  him  again  with  a  decanter  of  whiskey  and 
a  glass  in  her  hand,  and  a  return  of  the  bewitching  smile 
she  had  worn  on  entering. 

"  But  perhaps  you  don't  take  whiskey  ? "  suggested  the 


372  DEVIL'S  FORD 

arch  deceiver,  with  a  sudden  affected  but  pretty  perplexity 
of  eye,  brow,  and  lips. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Whiskey  Dick  hesitated 
between  two  forms  of  intoxication.  But  he  was  still  ner- 
vous and  uneasy;  habit  triumphed,  and  he  took  the  whis- 
key. He,  however,  wiped  his  lips  with  a  slight  wave 
of  his  handkerchief,  to  support  a  certain  easy  elegance 
which  he  firmly  believed  relieved  the  act  of  any  vulgar 
quality. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  he  continued,  after  an  exhilarated  pause. 
"Ez  I  said  afore,  this  yer  's  a  matter  you  and  me  kin  dis- 
cuss after  the  fashion  o'  society.  My  idea  is  that  these  yer 
boys  should  kinder  let  up  on  you  and  Miss  Jessie  for  a 
while,  and  do  a  little  more  permiskus  attention  round  the 
Ford.  There  's  one  or  two  families  yer  with  grown-up 
gals  ez  oughter  be  squared ;  that  is  —  the  boys  mighter  put 
in  a  few  fancy  touches  among  them  —  kinder  take  'em 
buggy  riding  —  or  to  church  —  once  in  a  while  —  just  to 
take  the  pizen  outer  their  tongues,  and  make  a  kind  o'  bluff 
to  the  parents,  d'  ye  see  1  That  would  sorter  divert  their 
own  minds;  and  even  if  it  didn't,  it  would  kinder  get  'em 
accustomed  agin  to  the  old  style  and  their  own  kind.  I 
want  to  warn  ye  agin  an  idea  that  might  occur  to  you  in 
a  giniral  way.  I  don't  say  you  hev  the  idea,  but  it 's  kind 
o'  nat'ral  you  might  be  thinkin'  of  it  some  time,  and  I 
thought  I  'd  warn  you  agin  it." 

"I  think  we  understand  each  other  too  well  to  differ 
much,  Mr.  Hall,"  said  Christie,  still  smiling;  "but  what  is 
the  idea?" 

The  delicate  compliment  to  their  confidential  relations 
and  the  slight  stimulus  of  liquor  had  tremulously  exalted 
Whiskey  Dick.  Affecting  to  look  cautiously  out  of  the 
window  and  around  the  room,  he  ventured  to  draw  nearer 
the  young  woman  with  a  half-paternal,  half-timid  familiar- 
ity. 


DEVIL'S  FORD  373 

"It  might  have  occurred  to  you,"  he  said,  laying  his 
hand  lightly,  holding  his  handkerchief  as  if  to  veil  mere 
vulgar  contact,  on  Christie's  shoulder,  "that  it  would  be  a 
good  thing  on  your  side  to  invite  down  some  of  your 
high-toned  gentlemen  friends  from  'Frisco  to  visit  you  and 
escort  you  round.  It  seems  quite  nat'ral  like,  and  I  don't 
say  it  ain't,  but  —  the  boys  wouldn't  stand  it." 

In  spite  of  her  self-possession  Christie's  eyes  suddenly 
darkened,  and  she  involuntarily  drew  herself  up.  But 
Whiskey  Dick,  guiltily  attributing  the  movement  to  his 
own  indiscreet  gesture,  said,  "Excuse  me,  miss,"  recovered 
himself  by  lightly  dusting  her  shoulder  with  his  handker- 
chief, as  if  to  remove  the  impression,  and  her  smile  re- 
turned. 

"They  wouldn't  stand  it,"  said  Dick,  "and  there  'd  be 
some  shooting !  Not  afore  you,  miss  —  not  afore  you,  in 
course!  But  they 'd  adjourn  to  the  woods  some  morning 
with  them  city  folks,  and  hev  it  out  with  rifles  at  a  hun- 
dred yards.  Or,  seein'  ez  they  're  city  folks,  the  boys 
would  do  the  square  thing  with  pistols  at  twelve  paces. 
They  're  good  boys,  as  I  said  afore;  but  they  're  quick  and 
tetchy  —  George,  being  the  youngest,  nat' rally  is  the  tetch- 
iest. You  know  how  it  is,  Miss  Carr;  his  pretty,  gal-like 
face  and  little  mustaches  haz  cost  him  half  a  dozen  scrim- 
mages already.  He  'z  had  a  fight  for  every  hair  that  'a 
growed  in  his  mustache  since  he  kem  here." 

"  Say  no  more,  Mr.  Hall ! "  said  Christie,  rising  and 
pressing  her  hands  lightly  on  Dick's  tremulous  fingers. 
"If  I  ever  had  any  such  idea,  I  should  abandon  it  now; 
you  are  quite  right  in  this  as  in  your  other  opinions.  I 
shall  never  cease  to  be  thankful  to  Mr.  Munroe  and  Mr. 
Kearney  that  they  intrusted  this  delicate  matter  to  your 
hands. " 

"Well,"  said  the  gratified  and  reddening  visitor,  "it 
ain't  perhaps  the  square  thing  to  them  or  myself  to  say 


374  DEVIL'S  FORD 

that  they  reckoned  to  have  me  discuss  their  delicate  affairs 
for  them,  but "  — 

"I  understand,"  interrupted  Christie.  "They  simply 
gave  you  the  letter  as  a  friend.  It  was  my  good  fortune 
to  find  you  a  sympathizing  and  liberal  man  of  the  world." 
The  delighted  Dick,  with  conscious  vanity  beaming  from 
every  feature  of  his  shining  face,  lightly  waved  the  com- 
pliment aside  with  his  handkerchief,  as  she  continued,  "  But 
I  am  forgetting  the  message.  We  accept  the  horses.  Of 
course  we  could  do  without  an  escort;  but,  forgive  my 
speaking  so  frankly,  are  you  engaged  this  afternoon  ? " 

"Excuse  me,  miss,  I  don't  take"  —  stammered  Dick, 
scarcely  believing  his  ears. 

"  Could  you  give  us  your  company  as  an  escort  ? "  re- 
peated Christie,  with  a  smile. 

Was  he  awake  or  dreaming,  or  was  this  some  trick  of 
liquor  in  his  often  distorted  fancy  1  He,  Whiskey  Dick ! 
the  butt  of  his  friends,  the  chartered  oracle  of  the  bar- 
rooms, even  in  whose  wretched  vanity  there  was  always  the 
haunting  suspicion  that  he  was  despised  and  scorned;  he, 
who  had  dared  so  much  in  speech,  and  achieved  so  little 
in  fact !  he,  whose  habitual  weakness  had  even  led  him  into 
the  wildest  indiscretion  here ;  he  —  now  offered  a  reward 
for  that  indiscretion!  He,  Whiskey  Dick,  the  solicited 
escort  of  these  two  beautiful  and  peerless  girls!  What 
would  they  say  at  the  Ford?  What  would  his  friends 
think  ?  It  would  be  all  over  the  Ford  the  next  day.  His 
past  would  be  vindicated,  his  future  secured.  He  grew 
erect  at  the  thought.  It  was  almost  in  other  voice,  and 
with  no  trace  of  his  previous  exaggeration,  that  he  said, 
"With  pleasure." 

"Then,  if  you  will  bring  the  horses  at  once,  we  shall 
be  ready  when  you  return." 

In  another  instant  he  had  vanished,  as  if  afraid  to  trust 
the  reality  of  his  good  fortune  to  the  dangers  of  delay. 


DEVIL'S  FORD  375 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  he  reappeared,  leading  the  two 
horses,  himself  mounted  on  a  half-broken  mustang.  A 
pair  of  large,  jingling  silver  spurs  and  a  stiff  sombrero,  bor- 
rowed with  the  mustang  from  some  mysterious  source,  were 
donned  to  do  honor  to  the  occasion. 

The  young  girls  were  not  yet  ready,  but  he  was  shown 
by  the  Chinese  servant  into  the  parlor  to  wait  for  them. 
The  decanter  of  whiskey  and  glasses  were  still  invitingly 
there.  He  was  hot,  trembling,  and  flushed  with  triumph. 
He  walked  to  the  table  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  decanter, 
when  an  odd  thought  flashed  upon  him.  He  would  not 
drink  this  time.  No,  it  should  not  be  said  that  he,  the 
selected  escort  of  the  elite  of  Devil's  Ford,  had  to  fill  him- 
self up  with  whiskey  before  they  started.  The  boys  might 
turn  to  each  other  in  their  astonishment,  as  he  proudly 
passed  with  his  fair  companions,  and  say,  "  It 's  Whiskey 
Dick,"  but  he  'd  be  d— d  if  they  should  add,  "and  full  as 
ever."  No,  sir!  Nor  when  he  was  riding  beside  these 
real  ladies,  and  leaning  over  them  at  some  confidential 
moment,  should  they  even  know  it  from  his  breath !  No. 
.  .  .  Yet  a  thimbleful,  taken  straight,  only  a  thimbleful, 
would  n't  be  much,  and  might  help  to  pull  him  together. 
He  again  reached  his  trembling  hand  for  the  decanter, 
^hesitated,  and  then,  turning  his  back  upon  it,  resolutely 
walked  to  the  open  window.  Almost  at  the  same  instant 
he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  Christie  on  the  veranda. 

She  looked  into  his  bloodshot  eyes,  and  cast  a  swift 
glance  at  the  decanter. 

"Won't  you  take  something  before  you  go?"  she  said 
sweetly. 

"I  —  reckon  —  not,  jest  now,"  stammered  Whiskey 
Dick,  with  a  heroic  effort. 

"You're  right,"  said  Christie.  "I  see  you  are  like 
me.  It 's  too  hot  for  anything  fiery.  Come  with  me." 

She  led  him    to  the  dining-room,   and  pouring    out   a 


376  DEVIL'S  FOKD 

glass  of  iced  tea  handed  it  to  him.  Poor  Dick  was  not  pre- 
pared for  this  terrible  culmination.  Whiskey  Dick  and 
iced  tea !  But  under  pretense  of  seeing  if  it  was  properly 
flavored,  Christie  raised  it  to  her  own  lips. 

"Try  it,  to  please  me." 

He  drained  the  goblet. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Christie  gayly,  "let 's  find  Jessie,  and 
be  off!" 


CHAPTER  V 

WHATEVER  might  have  been  his  other  deficiencies  as  an 
escort,  Whiskey  Dick  was  a  good  horseman,  and  in  spite 
of  his  fractious  brute,  exhibited  such  skill  and  confidence  as 
to  at  once  satisfy  the  young  girls  of  his  value  to  them  in 
the  management  of  their  own  horses,  to  whom  side-saddles 
were  still  an  alarming  novelty.  Jessie,  who  had  probably 
already  learned  from  her  sister  the  purport  of  Dick's  confi- 
dences, had  received  him  with  equal  cordiality  and  perhaps 
a  more  unqualified  amusement;  and  now,  when  fairly  lifted 
into  the  saddle  by  his  tremulous  but  respectful  hands,  made 
a  very  charming  picture  of  youthful  and  rosy  satisfaction. 
And  when  Christie,  more  fascinating  than  ever  in  her  rid- 
ing-habit, took  her  place  on  the  other  side  of  Dick,  as  they 
sallied  from  the  gate,  that  gentleman  felt  his  cup  of  hap- 
piness complete.  His  triumphal  entree  into  the  world  of 
civilization  and  fashion  was  secure.  He  did  not  regret  the 
un tasted  liquor;  here  was  an  experience  in  after  years  to 
lean  his  back  against  comfortably  in  bar-rooms,  to  entrance 
or  defy  mankind.  He  had  even  got  so  far  as  to  formulate 
in  fancy  the  sentence:  "I  remember,  gentlemen,  that  one 
afternoon,  being  on  a  pasear  with  two  fash'nable  young 
ladies,"  etc.,  etc. 

At  present,  however,  he  was  obliged  to  confine  himself 
to  the  functions  of  an  elegant  guide  and  cicerone  —  when 
not  engaged  in  "  having  it  out "  with  his  horse.  Their  way 
lay  along  the  slope,  crossing  the  highroad  at  right  angles, 
to  reach  the  deeper  woods  beyond.  Dick  would  have  lin- 
gered on  the  highway  —  ostensibly  to  point  out  to  his  com- 


378  DEVIL'S  FORD 

panions  the  new  flume  that  had  taken  the  place  of  the  con- 
demned ditch,  but  really  in  the  hope  of  exposing  himself  in 
his  glory  to  the  curious  eyes  of  the  wayfaring  world.  Un- 
happily the  road  was  deserted  in  the  still  powerful  sunlight, 
and  he  was  obliged  to  seek  the  cover  of  the  woods,  with 
a  passing  compliment  to  the  parent  of  his  charges.  Wav- 
ing his  hand  towards  the  flume,  he  said,  "Look  at  that 
work  of  your  father's;  there  ain't  no  other  man  in  Cali- 
forny  but  Philip  Carr  ez  would  hev  the  grit  to  hold  up  such 
a  bluff  agin  natur  and  agin  luck  ez  that  yer  flume  stands 
for.  I  don't  say  it  'cause  you're  his  daughters,  ladies! 
That  ain't  the  style,  ez  you  know,  in  sassiety,  Miss  Carr," 
he  added,  turning  to  Christie  as  the  more  socially  experi- 
enced. "No!  but  there  ain't  another  man  to  be  found  ez 
could  do  it.  It  cost  already  two  hundred  thousand;  it  '11 
cost  five  hundred  thousand  afore  it 's  done ;  and  every  cent 
of  it  is  got  out  of  the  yearth  beneath  it,  or  hez  got  to  be 
out  of  it.  'T  ain't  ev'ry  man,  Miss  Carr,  ez  hev  got  the 
pluck  to  pledge  not  only  what  he 's  got,  but  what  he 
reckons  to  git." 

"But  suppose  he  don't  get  it?"  said  Christie,  slightly 
contracting  her  brows. 

"Then  there  's  the  flume  to  show  for  it,"  said  Dick. 

"But  of  what  use  is  the  flume,  if  there  isn't  any  more 
gold  1 "  continued  Christie,  almost  angrily. 

"That 's  good  from  you,  miss,"  said  Dick,  giving  way  to 
a  fit  of  hilarity.  "  That 's  good  for  a  fash'nable  young  lady 
—  own  daughter  of  Philip  Carr.  She  sez,  says  she,"  con- 
tinued Dick,  appealing  to  the  sedate  pines  for  appreciation 
of  Christie's  rare  humor,  "'  Wot 's  the  use  of  a  flume,  when 
gold  ain't  there ? '  I  must  tell  that  to  the  boys." 

"And  what's  the  use  of  the  gold  in  the  ground  when 
the  flume  isn't  there  to  work  it  out?"  said  Jessie  to  her 
sister,  with  a  cautioning  glance  towards  Dick. 

But  Dick  did  not  notice  the  look  that  passed  between  the 


DEVIL'S  FORD  379 

sisters.  The  richer  humor  of  Jessie's  retort  had  thrown 
him  into  convulsions  of  laughter. 

"And  now  she  says,  wot 's  the  use  o'  the  gold  without 
the  flume?  'Xcuse  me,  ladies,  but  that 's  just  puttin'  the 
hull  questin  that 's  agitatin'  this  yer  camp  inter  two  speeches 
as  clear  as  crystal.  There  's  the  hull  crowd  outside  —  and 
some  on  'em  inside  like  Fairfax,  hez  their  doubts  —  ez  says 
with  Miss  Christie;  and  there  's  all  of  us  inside,  ez  holds 
Miss  Jessie's  views." 

"I  never  heard  Mr.  Munroe  say  that  the  flume  was 
wrong,"  said  Jessie  quickly. 

"Not  to  you,  nat'rally,"  said  Dick,  with  a  confidential 
look  at  Christie;  "but  I  reckon  he'd  like  some  of  the 
money  it  cost  laid  out  for  suthin'  else.  But  what 's  the 
odds  1  The  gold  is  there,  and  we  're  bound  to  get  it. " 

Dick  was  the  foreman  of  a  gang  of  paid  workmen,  who 
had  replaced  the  millionaires  in  mere  manual  labor,  and 
the  we  was  a  polite  figure  of  speech. 

The  conversation  seemed  to  have  taken  an  unfortunate 
turn,  and  both  the  girls  experienced  a  feeling  of  relief  when 
they  entered  the  long  gulch  or  defile  that  led  to  Indian 
Spring.  The  track  now  becoming  narrow,  they  were  obliged 
to  pass  in  single  file  along  the  precipitous  hillside,  led  by  this 
escort.  This  effectually  precluded  any  further  speech,  and 
Christie  at  once  surrendered  herself  to  the  calm,  obliterat- 
ing influences  of  the  forest.  The  settlement  and  its  gossip 
were  far  behind  and  forgotten.  In  the  absorption  of  na- 
ture, her  companions  passed  out  of  her  mind,  even  as  they 
sometimes  passed  out  of  her  sight  in  the  windings  of  the 
shadowy  trail.  As  she  rode  alone,  the  fronds  of  breast- 
high  ferns  seemed  to  caress  her  with  outstretched  and 
gently  detaining  hands;  strange  wild-flowers  sprang  up 
through  the  parting  underbrush;  even  the  granite  rocks 
that  at  times  pressed  closely  upon  the  trail  appeared  as  if 
cushioned  to  her  contact  with  star-rayed  mosses,  or  lightly 


380  DEVIL'S  FORD 

flung  after  her  long  lassoes  of  delicate  vines.  She  recalled 
the  absolute  freedom  of  their  al-fresco  life  in  the  old  double 
cabin,  when  she  spent  the  greater  part  of  her  waking  hours 
under  the  mute  trees  in  the  encompassing  solitude,  and 
half  regretting  the  more  civilised  restraints  of  this  newer 
and  more  ambitious  abode,  forgot  that  she  had  ever  rebelled 
against  it.  The  social  complication  that  threatened  her  now 
seemed  to  her  rather  the  outcome  of  her  half-civilized  par- 
lor than  of  the  sylvan  glade.  How  easy  it  would  have 
been  to  have  kept  the  cabin,  and  then  to  have  gone  away 
entirely,  than  for  her  father  to  have  allowed  them  to  be 
compromised  with  the  growing  fortunes  of  the  settlement! 
The  suspicions  and  distrust  that  she  had  always  felt  of 
their  fortunes  seemed  to  grow  with  the  involuntary  admis- 
sion of  Whiskey  Dick  that  they  were  shared  by  others  who 
were  practical  men.  She  was  fain  to  have  recourse  to  the 
prospect  again  to  banish  these  thoughts,  and  this  opened 
her  eyes  to  the  fact  that  her  companions  had  been  missing 
from  the  trail  ahead  of  her  for  some  time.  She  quickened 
her  pace  slightly  to  reach  a  projecting  point  of  rock  that 
gave  her  a  more  extended  prospect.  But  they  had  evi- 
dently disappeared. 

She  was  neither  alarmed  nor  annoyed.  She  could  easily 
overtake  them  soon,  for  they  would  miss  her,  and  return  or 
wait  for  her  at  the  spring.  At  the  worst  she  would  have  no 
difficulty  in  retracing  her  steps  home.  In  her  present  mood, 
she  could  readily  spare  their  company ;  indeed,  she  was  not 
sorry  that  no  other  being  should  interrupt  that  sympathy 
with  the  free  woods  which  was  beginning  to  possess  her. 

She  was  destined,  however,  to  be  disappointed.  She 
had  not  proceeded  a  hundred  yards  before  she  noticed  the 
moving  figure  of  a  man  beyond  her  in  the  hillside  chaparral 
above  the  trail.  He  seemed  to  be  going  in  the  same  di- 
rection as  herself,  and,  as  she  fancied,  endeavoring  to  avoid 
her.  This  excited  her  curiosity  to  the  point  of  urging  her 


DEVIL'S  FORD  381 

horse  forward  until  the  trail  broadened  into  the  level  forest 
again,  which  she  now  remembered  was  a  part  of  the  envi- 
rons of  Indian  Spring.  The  stranger  hesitated,  pausing 
once  or  twice  with  his  back  towards  her,  as  if  engaged  in 
carefully  examining  the  dwarf  willows  to  select  a  switch. 
Christie  slightly  checked  her  speed  as  she  drew  nearer; 
when,  as  if  obedient  to  a  sudden  resolution,  he  turned  and 
advanced  towards  her.  She  was  relieved  and  yet  surprised 
to  recognize  the  boyish  face  and  figure  of  George  Kearney. 
He  was  quite  pale  and  agitated,  although  attempting,  by 
a  jaunty  swinging  of  the  switch  he  had  just  cut,  to  assume 
the  appearance  of  ease  and  confidence. 

Here  was  an  opportunity.  Christie  resolved  to  profit  by 
it.  She  did  not  doubt  that  the  young  fellow  had  already 
passed  her  sister  on  the  trail,  but,  from  bashfulness,  had 
not  dared  to  approach  her.  By  inviting  his  confidence,  she 
would  doubtless  draw  something  from  him  that  would  deny 
or  corroborate  her  father's  opinion  of  his  sentiments.  If 
he  was  really  in  love  with  Jessie,  she  would  learn  what 
reasons  he  had  for  expecting  a  serious  culmination  of  his 
suit,  and  perhaps  she  might  be  able  delicately  to  open  his 
eyes  to  the  truth.  If,  as  she  believed,  it  was  only  a  boy- 
ish fancy,  she  would  laugh  him  out  of  it  with  that  ca- 
maraderie which  had  always  existed  between  them.  A 
half-motherly  sympathy,  albeit  born  quite  as  much  from  a 
contemplation  of  his  beautiful  yearning  eyes  as  from  his 
interesting  position,  lightened  the  smile  with  which  she 
greeted  him. 

"So  you  contrived  to  throw  over  your  stupid  business 
and  join  us,  after  all,"  she  said;  "or  was  it  that  you 
changed  your  mind  at  the  last  moment  ? "  she  added  mis- 
chievously. "I  thought  only  we  women  were  permitted 
that !  "  Indeed,  she  could  not  help  noticing  that  there  was 
really  a  strong  feminine  suggestion  in  the  shifting  color  and 
slightly  conscious  eyelids  of  the  young  fellow. 


382  DEVIL'S  FORD 

"Do  young  girls  always  change  their  minds?"  asked 
George,  with  an  embarrassed  smile. 

"Not  always;  but  sometimes  they  don't  know  their  own 
mind  —  particularly  if  they  are  very  young;  and  when 
they  do  at  last,  you  clever  creatures  of  men,  who  have  in- 
terpreted their  ignorance  to  please  yourselves,  abuse  them 
for  being  fickle."  She  stopped  to  observe  the  effect  of 
what  she  believed  a  rather  clear  and  significant  exposition 
of  Jessie's  and  George's  possible  situation.  But  she  was 
not  prepared  for  the  look  of  blank  resignation  that  seemed 
to  drive  the  color  from  his  face  and  moisten  the  fire  of  his 
dark  eyes. 

"I  reckon  you  're  right,"  he  said,  looking  down. 

"Oh!  we  're  not  accusing  you  of  fickleness,"  said  Chris- 
tie gayly ;  "although  you  did  n't  come,  and  we  were  obliged 
to  ask  Mr.  Hall  to  join  us.  I  suppose  you  found  him  and 
Jessie  just  now  ?  " 

But  George  made  no  reply.  The  color  was  slowly  com- 
ing back  to  his  face,  which,  as  she  glanced  covertly  at  him, 
seemed  to  have  grown  so  much  older  that  his  returning 
blood  might  have  brought  two  or  three  years  with  it. 

"Really,  Mr.  Kearney,"  she  said  dryly,  "one  would 
think  that  some  silly,  conceited  girl "  —  she  was  quite  ear- 
nest in  her  epithets,  for  a  sudden,  angry  conviction  of  some 
coquetry  and  disingenuousness  in  Jessie  had  come  to  her  in 
contemplating  its  effects  upon  the  young  fellow  at  her  side 
—  "some  country  jilt,  had  been  trying  her  rustic  hand 
upon  you." 

"She  is  not  silly,  conceited,  nor  countrified,"  said 
George,  slowly  raising  his  beautiful  eyes  to  the  young  girl 
half  reproachfully.  "It  is  I  who  am  all  that.  No,  she  is 
right,  and  you  know  it." 

Much  as  Christie  admired  and  valued  her  sister's  charms, 
she  thought  this  was  really  going  too  far.  What  had  Jes- 
sie ever  done  —  what  was  Jessie  —  to  provoke  and  remain 


DEVIL'S  FORD  383 

insensible  to  such  a  blind  devotion  as  this!  And  really, 
looking  at  him  now,  he  was  not  so  very  young  for  Jessie ; 
whether  his  unfortunate  passion  had  brought  out  all  his 
latent  manliness,  or  whether  he  had  hitherto  kept  his  seri- 
ous nature  in  the  background,  certainly  he  was  not  a  boy. 
And  certainly  his  was  not  a  passion  that  he  could  be 
laughed  out  of.  It  was  getting  very  tiresome.  She  wished 
she  had  not  met  him  —  at  least  until  she  had  had  some 
clearer  understanding  with  her  sister.  He  was  still  walk- 
ing beside  her,  with  his  hand  on  her  bridle  rein,  partly  to 
lead  her  horse  over  some  boulders  in  the  trail,  and  partly 
to  conceal  his  first  embarrassment.  When  they  had  fairly 
reached  the  woods,  he  stopped. 

"I  am  going  to  say  good-by,  Miss  Carr." 

"Are  you  not  coming  further!  We  must  be  near  In- 
dian Spring,  now;  Mr.  Hall  and  —  and  Jessie  —  cannot  be 
far  away.  You  will  keep  me  company  until  we  meet  them  t n 

"No,"  he  replied  quietly.  "I  only  stopped  you  to  say 
good-by.  I  am  going  away." 

"Not  from  Devil's  Ford!  "  she  asked,  in  half -incredulous 
astonishment  "  At  least,  not  for  long  t " 

"I  am  not  coming  back,"  he  replied. 

"But  this  is  very  abrupt,"  she  said  hurriedly,  feeling 
that  in  some  ridiculous  way  she  had  precipitated  an 
equally  ridiculous  catastrophe.  "  Surely  you  are  not  going 
away  in  this  fashion,  without  saying  good-by  to  Jessie  and 
—  and  father  t" 

"  I  shall  see  your  father,  of  course  —  and  you  will  give 
my  regards  to  Miss  Jessie." 

He  evidently  was  in  earnest.  Was  there  ever  anything 
so  perfectly  preposterous  f  She  became  indignant. 

"Of  course,"  she  said  coldly,  "I  won't  detain  you;  your 
business  must  be  urgent,  and  I  forgot  —  at  least  I  had  for- 
gotten until  to-day  —  that  you  have  other  duties  more 
important  than  that  of  squire  of  dames.  I  am  afraid  this 


384  DEVIL'S  FORD 

forgetfulness  made  me  think  you  would  not  part  from  us 
in  quite  such  a  business  fashion.  I  presume,  if  you  had 
not  met  me  just  now,  we  should  none  of  us  have  seen 
you  again  ? " 

He  did  not  reply. 

"Will  you  say  good-by,  Miss  Carr? " 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

"One  moment,  Mr.  Kearney.  If  I  have  said  anything 
which  you  think  justifies  this  very  abrupt  leave-taking,  I 
beg  you  will  forgive  and  forget  it  —  or,  at  least,  let  it  have 
no  more  weight  with  you  than  the  idle  words  of  any  wo- 
man. I  only  spoke  generally.  You  know  —  I  —  I  might 
be  mistaken." 

His  eyes,  which  had  dilated  when  she  began  to  speak, 
darkened;  his  color,  which  had  quickly  come,  as  quickly 
sank  when  she  had  ended. 

"Don't  say  that,  Miss  Carr.  It  is  not  like  you,  and  — 
it  is  useless.  You  know  what  I  meant  a  moment  ago. 
I  read  it  in  your  reply.  You  meant  that  I,  like  others, 
had  deceived  myself.  Did  you  not  ? " 

She  could  not  meet  those  honest  eyes  with  less  than 
equal  honesty.  She  knew  that  Jessie  did  not  love  him  — 
would  not  marry  him  —  whatever  coquetry  she  might  have 
shown. 

"I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you,"  she  said  hesitatingly; 
"I  only  half  suspected  it  when  I  spoke." 

"  And  you  wish  to  spare  me  the  avowal  1 "  he  said  bit- 
terly. 

"To  me,  perhaps,  yes,  by  anticipating  it.  I  could  not 
tell  what  ideas  you  might  have  gathered  from  some  indis- 
creet frankness  of  Jessie  —  or  my  father, "  she  added,  with 
almost  equal  bitterness. 

"I  have  never  spoken  to  either,"  he  replied  quickly.  He 
stopped,  and  added,  after  a  moment's  mortifying  reflection, 
"I've  been  brought  up  in  the  woods,  Miss  Carr,  and  I 


DEVIL'S  FORD  385 

suppose  I  have  followed  my  feelings,  instead  of  the  eti- 
quette of  society." 

Christie  was  too  relieved  at  the  rehabilitation  of  Jessie's 
truthfulness  to  notice  the  full  significance  of  his  speech. 

"  Good- by, "  he  said  again,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"Good-by!" 

She  extended  her  own,  ungloved,  with  a  frank  smile. 
He  held  it  for  a  moment,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  hers. 
Then  suddenly,  as  if  obeying  an  uncontrollable  impulse,  he 
crushed  it  like  a  flower  again  and  again  against  his  burning 
lips,  and  darted  away. 

Christie  sank  back  in  her  saddle  with  a  little  cry,  half 
of  pain  and  half  of  frightened  surprise.  Had  the  poor  boy 
suddenly  gone  mad,  or  was  this  vicarious  farewell  a  part  of 
the  courtship  of  Devil's  Ford?  She  looked  at  her  little 
hand,  which  had  reddened  under  the  pressure,  and  suddenly 
felt  the  flush  extending  to  her  cheeks  and  the  roots  of  her 
hair.  This  was  intolerable. 

"Christie!" 

It  was  her  sister  emerging  from  the  wood  to  seek  her. 
In  another  moment  she  was  at  her  side. 

"We thought  you  were  following,"  said  Jessie.  "Good 
heavens !  how  you  look !  What  has  happened  1 " 

"Nothing.  I  met  Mr.  Kearney  a  moment  ago  on  the 
trail.  He  is  going  away,  and  —  and  "  —  She  stopped, 
furious  and  flushing. 

"  And, "  said  Jessie,  with  a  burst  of  merriment,  "  he  told 
you  at  last  he  loved  you.  Oh,  Christie ! " 


CHAPTEE  VI 

THE  abrupt  departure  of  George  Kearney  from  Devil's 
Ford  excited  but  little  interest  in  the  community,  and  was 
soon  forgotten.  It  was  generally  attributed  to  differences 
between  himself  and  his  partners  on  the  question  of  further 
outlay  of  their  earnings  on  mining  improvements  —  he  and 
Philip  Carr  alone  representing  a  sanguine  minority  whose 
faith  in  the  future  of  the  mine  accepted  any  risks.  It  was 
alleged  by  some  that  he  had  sold  out  to  his  brother;  it  was 
believed  by  others  that  he  had  simply  gone  to  Sacramento 
to  borrow  money  on  his  share,  in  order  to  continue  the 
improvements  on  his  own  responsibility.  The  partners 
themselves  were  uncommunicative;  even  Whiskey  Dick, 
who  since  his  remarkable  social  elevation  had  become  less 
oracular,  much  to  his  own  astonishment,  contributed  no- 
thing to  the  gossip  except  a  suggestion  that  as  the  fiery 
temper  of  George  Kearney  brooked  no  opposition,  even 
from  his  brother,  it  was  better  they  should  separate  before 
the  estrangement  became  serious. 

Mr.  Carr  did  not  disguise  his  annoyance  at  the  loss  of 
his  young  disciple  and  firm  ally.  But  an  unlucky  allusion 
to  his  previous  remarks  on  Kearney's  attentions  to  Jessie, 
and  a  querulous  regret  that  he  had  permitted  a  disruption 
of  their  social  intimacy,  brought  such  an  ominous  and  frigid 
opposition,  not  only  from  Christie,  but  even  from  the  friv- 
olous Jessie  herself,  that  Carr  sank  back  in  a  crushed  and 
terrified  silence.  "I  only  meant  to  say,"  he  stammered 
after  a  pause,  in  which  he,  however,  resumed  his  aggrieved 
manner,  "that  Fairfax  seems  to  come  here  still,  and  he  is 
not  such  a  particular  friend  of  mine." 


DEVIL'S  FORD  387 

"But  he  is  —  and  has  your  interest  entirely  at  heart," 
said  Jessie  stoutly,  "and he  only  comes  here  to  tell  us  how 
things  are  going  on  at  the  works." 

"And  criticise  your  father,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Carr, 
with  an  attempt  at  jocularity  that  did  not,  however,  dis- 
guise an  irritated  suspiciousness.  "He  really  seems  to 
have  supplanted  me  as  he  has  poor  Kearney  in  your  esti- 
mation." 

"Now,  father,"  said  Jessie,  suddenly  seizing  him  by  the 
shoulders  in  affected  indignation,  but  really  to  conceal  a 
certain  embarrassment  that  sprang  quite  as  much  from  her 
sister's  quietly  observant  eye  as  her  father's  speech,  "you 
promised  to  let  this  ridiculous  discussion  drop.  You  will 
make  me  and  Christie  so  nervous  that  we  will  not  dare  to 
open  the  door  to  a  visitor,  until  he  declares  his  innocence 
of  any  matrimonial  intentions.  You  don't  want  to  give 
color  to  the  gossip  that  agreement  with  your  views  about 
the  improvements  is  necessary  to  getting  on  with  us." 

"  Who  dares  talk  such  rubbish  ?  "  said  Carr,  reddening  ; 
"  is  that  the  kind  of  gossip  that  Fairfax  brings  here  1 " 

"Hardly,  when  it's  known  that  he  don't  quite  agree 
with  you,  and  does  come  here.  That 's  the  best  denial  of 
the  gossip." 

Christie,  who  had  of  late  loftily  ignored  these  discus- 
sions, waited  until  her  father  had  taken  his  departure. 

"Then  that  is  the  reason  why  you  still  see  Mr.  Mun- 
roe,  after  what  you  said,"  she  remarked  quietly  to  Jessie. 

Jessie,  who  would  have  liked  to  escape  with  her  father, 
was  obliged  to  pause  on  the  threshold  of  the  door,  with  a 
pretty  assumption  of  blank  forgetfulness  in  her  blue  eyes 
and  lifted  eyebrows. 

"  Said  what  1  when  1 "  she  asked  vacantly. 

"  When  —  when  Mr.  Kearney  that  day  —  in  the  woods 
—  went  away,"  said  Christie,  faintly  coloring. 

"Oh!  that  day,"  said  Jessie  briskly;  " the  day  he  just 


388  DEVIL'S  FORD 

gloved  your  hand  with  kisses,  and  then  fled  wildly  into 
the  forest  to  conceal  his  emotion." 

"The  day  he  behaved  very  foolishly,"  said  Christie, 
with  reproachful  calmness,  that  did  not,  however,  prevent 
a  suspicion  of  indignant  moisture  in  her  eyes  —  "  when 
you  explained  "  — 

"That  it  wasn't  meant  for  me,"  interrupted  Jessie. 

"That  it  was  to  you  that  Mr.  Munroe's  attentions  were 
directed.  And  then  we  agreed  that  it  was  better  to  pre- 
vent any  further  advances  of  this  kind  by  avoiding  any 
familiar  relations  with  either  of  them." 

"Yes,"  said  Jessie,  "I  remember;  but  you're  not  con- 
founding my  seeing  Fairfax  occasionally  now  with  that  sort 
of  thing.  He  doesn't  kiss  my  hand  like  anything,"  she 
added,  as  if  in  abstract  reflection. 

"Nor  run  away,  either,"  suggested  the  trodden  worm, 
turning. 

There  was  an  ominous  silence. 

"Do  you  know  we  are  nearly  out  of  coffee? "  said  Jes- 
sie, choking,  but  moving  towards  the  door  with  Spartan- 
like  calmness. 

"Yes.  And  something  must  be  done  this  very  day 
about  the  washing,"  said  Christie,  with  suppressed  emo- 
tion, going  towards  the  opposite  entrance. 

Tears  stood  in  each  other's  eyes  with  this  terrible  ex- 
change of  domestic  confidences.  Nevertheless,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  they  deliberately  turned  again,  and  facing 
each  other  with  frightful  calmness,  left  the  room  by  pur- 
poseless and  deliberate  exits  other  than  those  they  had 
contemplated  —  a  crushing  abnegation  of  self,  that,  to  some 
extent,  relieved  their  surcharged  feelings. 

Meantime  the  material  prosperity  of  Devil's  Ford  in- 
creased, if  a  prosperity  based  upon  no  visible  foundation 
but  the  confidence  and  hopes  of  its  inhabitants  could  be 
called  material.  Few,  if  any,  stopped  to  consider  that 


DEVIL'S  FORD  389 

the  improvements,  buildings,  and  business  were  simply  the 
outlay  of  capital  brought  from  elsewhere,  and  as  yet  the 
settlement  or  town,  as  it  was  now  called,  had  neither  pro- 
duced nor  exported  capital  of  itself  equal  to  half  the  amount 
expended.  It  was  true  that  some  land  was  cultivated  on 
the  further  slope,  some  mills  erected  and  lumber  furnished 
from  the  inexhaustible  forest;  but  the  consumers  were  the 
inhabitants  themselves,  who  paid  for  their  produce  in  bor- 
rowed capital  or  unlimited  credit.  It  was  never  discovered 
that  while  all  roads  led  to  Devil's  Ford,  Devil's  Ford  led 
to  nowhere.  The  difficulties  overcome  in  getting  things 
into  the  settlement  were  never  surmounted  for  getting 
things  out  of  it.  The  lumber  was  practically  valueless 
for  export  to  other  settlements  across  the  mountain  roads, 
which  were  equally  rich  in  timber.  The  theory  so  enthusi- 
astically held  by  the  original  locators,  that  Devil's  Ford 
was  a  vast  sink  that  had,  through  ages,  exhausted  and 
absorbed  the  trickling  wealth  of  the  adjacent  hills  and 
valleys,  was  suffering  an  ironical  corroboration. 

One  morning  it  was  known  that  work  was  stopped  at  the 
Devil's  Ford  Ditch  —  temporarily  only,  it  was  alleged,  and 
many  of  the  old  workmen  simply  had  their  labor  for  the 
present  transferred  to  excavating  the  river-banks,  and  the 
collection  of  vast  heaps  of  "pay  gravel."  Specimens  from 
these  mounds,  taken  from  different  localities,  and  at  differ- 
ent levels,  were  sent  to  San  Francisco  for  more  rigid  assay 
and  analysis.  It  was  believed  that  this  would  establish 
the  fact  of  the  permanent  richness  of  the  drifts,  and  not 
only  justify  past  expenditure,  but  a  renewed  outlay  of 
credit  and  capital.  The  suspension  of  engineering  work 
gave  Mr.  Carr  an  opportunity  to  visit  San  Francisco  on 
general  business  of  the  mine,  which  would  not,  however, 
prevent  him  from  arranging  further  combinations  with  capi- 
tal. His  two  daughters  accompanied  him.  It  offered  an 
admirable  opportunity  for  a  shopping  expedition,  a  change 


390  DEVIL'S  FORD 

of  scene,  and  a  peaceful  solution  of  their  perplexing  and 
anomalous  social  relations  with  Devil's  Ford.  In  the  first 
flush  of  gratitude  to  their  father  for  this  opportune  holiday, 
something  of  harmony  had  been  restored  to  the  family 
circle  that  had  of  late  been  shaken  by  discord. 

But  their  sanguine  hopes  of  enjoyment  were  not  entirely 
fulfilled.  Both  Jessie  and  Christie  were  obliged  to  confess 
to  a  certain  disappointment  in  the  aspect  of  the  civilization 
they  were  now  reentering.  They  at  first  attributed  it  to 
the  change  in  their  own  habits  during  the  last  three  months, 
and  their  having  become  barbarous  and  countrified  in  their 
seclusion.  Certainly  in  the  matter  of  dress  they  were  be- 
hind the  fashions  as  revealed  in  Montgomery  Street.  But 
when  the  brief  solace  afforded  them  by  the  modiste  and 
dressmaker  was  past,  there  seemed  little  else  to  be  gained. 
They  missed  at  first,  I  fear,  the  chivalrous  and  loyal  devo- 
tion that  had  only  amused  them  at  Devil's  Ford,  and  were 
the  more  inclined,  I  think,  to  distrust  the  conscious  and 
more  civilized  gallantry  of  the  better  dressed  and  more  care- 
fully presented  men  they  met.  For  it  must  be  admitted 
that,  for  obvious  reasons,  their  criticisms  were  at  first  con- 
fined to  the  sex  they  had  been  most  in  contact  with.  They 
could  not  help  noticing  that  the  men  were  more  eager, 
annoyingly  feverish,  and  self  -  asserting  in  their  superior 
elegance  and  external  show  than  their  old  associates  were 
in  their  frank,  unrestrained  habits.  It  seemed  to  them  that 
the  five  millionaires  of  Devil's  Ford,  in  their  radical  simpli- 
city and  thoroughness,  were  perhaps  nearer  the  type  of  true 
gentlemanhood  than  these  citizens  who  imitated  a  civiliza- 
tion they  were  unable  yet  to  reach. 

The  women  simply  frightened  them,  as  being,  even  more 
than  the  men,  demonstrative  and  excessive  in  their  fine 
looks,  their  fine  dresses,  their  extravagant  demand  for 
excitement.  In  less  than  a  week  they  found  themselves 
regretting  —  not  the  new  villa  on  the  slope  of  Devil's  Ford, 


DEVIL'S  FORD  391 

which  even  in  its  own  bizarre  fashion  was  exceeded  by  the 
barbarous  ostentation  of  the  villas  and  private  houses  around 
them  —  but  the  double  cabin  under  the  trees,  which  now 
seemed  to  them  almost  aristocratic  in  its  grave  simplicity 
and  abstention.  In  the  mysterious  forest  of  masts  that 
thronged  the  city's  quays  they  recalled  the  straight  shafts 
of  the  pines  on  Devil's  slopes,  only  to  miss  the  sedate  re- 
pose and  infinite  calm  that  used  to  environ  them.  In  the 
feverish,  pulsating  life  of  the  young  metropolis  they  often 
stopped  oppressed,  giddy,  and  choking;  the  roar  of  the 
streets  and  thoroughfares  was  meaningless  to  them,  except 
to  revive  strange  memories  of  the  deep,  unvarying  mono- 
tone of  the  evening  wind  over  their  humbler  roof  on  the 
Sierran  hillside.  Civic  bred  and  nurtured  as  they  were, 
the  recurrence  of  these  sensations  perplexed  and  alarmed 
them. 

"It  seems  so  perfectly  ridiculous,"  said  Jessie,  "for  us 
to  feel  as  out  of  place  here  as  that  Pike  County  servant 
girl  in  Sacramento  who  had  never  seen  a  steamboat  before; 
do  you  know,  I  quite  had  a  turn  the  other  day  at  seeing 
a  man  on  the  Stockton  wharf  in  a  red  shirt,  with  a  rifle 
on  his  shoulder." 

"And  you  wanted  to  go  and  speak  to  him? "  said  Chris- 
tie, with  a  sad  smile. 

"No,  that's  just  it;  I  felt  awfully  hurt  and  injured 
that  he  did  not  come  up  and  speak  to  me  !  I  wonder  if 
we  got  any  fever  or  that  sort  of  thing  up  there;  it  makes 
one  quite  superstitious." 

Christie  did  not  reply;  more  than  once  before  she  had 
felt  that  inexplicable  misgiving.  It  had  sometimes  seemed 
to  her  that  she  had  never  been  quite  herself  since  that 
memorable  night  when  she  had  slipped  out  of  their  sleep- 
ing-cabin, and  stood  alone  in  the  gracious  and  commanding 
presence  of  the  woods  and  hills.  In  the  solitude  of  night, 
with  the  hum  of  the  great  city  rising  below  her  —  at  times 


392  DEVIL'S  FORD 

even  in  theatres  or  crowded  assemblies  of  men  and  women 
—  she  forgot  herself,  and  again  stood  in  the  weird  brilliancy 
of  that  moonlight  night  in  mute  worship  at  the  foot  of  that 
slowly  rising  mystic  altar  of  piled  terraces,  hanging  forests, 
and  lifted  plateaus  that  climbed  forever  to  the  lonely  skies. 
Again  she  felt  before  her  the  expanding  and  opening  arms 
of  the  protecting  woods.  Had  they  really  closed  upon  her 
in  some  pantheistic  embrace  that  made  her  a  part  of  them  1 
Had  she  been  baptized  in  that  moonlight  as  a  child  of  the 
great  forest?  It  was  easy  to  believe  in  the  myths  of  the 
poets  of  an  idyllic  life  under  those  trees,  where,  free  from 
conventional  restrictions,  one  loved  and  was  loved.  If  she, 
with  her  own  worldly  experience,  could  think  of  this  now, 
why  might  not  George  Kearney  have  thought  ?  .  .  .  She 
stopped,  and  found  herself  blushing  even  in  the  darkness. 
As  the  thought  and  blush  were  the  usual  sequel  of  her 
reflections,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  they  may  have  been  at 
times  the  impelling  cause. 

Mr.  Carr,  however,  made  up  for  his  daughters'  want  of 
sympathy  with  metropolitan  life.  To  their  astonishment, 
he  not  only  plunged  into  the  fashionable  gayeties  and 
amusements  of  the  town,  but  in  dress  and  manner  assumed 
the  role  of  a  leader  of  society.  The  invariable  answer  to 
their  half-humorous  comment  was  the  necessities  of  the 
mine,  and  the  policy  of  frequenting  the  company  of  capi- 
talists, to  enlist  their  support  and  confidence.  There  was 
something  in  this  so  unlike  their  father,  that  what  at  any 
other  time  they  would  have  hailed  as  a  relief  to  his  habit- 
ual abstraction  now  half  alarmed  them.  Yet  he  was  not 
dissipated  —  he  did  not  drink  nor  gamble.  There  certainly 
did  not  seem  any  harm  in  his  frequenting  the  society  of 
ladies,  with  a  gallantry  that  appeared  to  be  forced  and  a 
pleasure  that  to  their  critical  eyes  was  certainly  apocryphal. 
He  did  not  drag  his  daughters  into  the  mixed  society  of 
that  period;  he  did  not  press  upon  them  the  company  of 


Devil's  Ford 


DEVIL'S  FOED  393 

those  he  most  frequented,  and  whose  accepted  position  in 
that  little  world  of  fashion  was  considered  equal  to  their 
own.  When  Jessie  strongly  objected  to  the  pronounced 
manners  of  a  certain  widow,  whose  actual  present  wealth 
and  pecuniary  influence  condoned  for  a  more  uncertain  pre- 
historic past,  Mr.  Carr  did  not  urge  a  further  acquaintance. 
"As  long  as  you  're  not  thinking  of  marrying  again,  papa," 
Jessie  had  said  finally,  "I  don't  see  the  necessity  of  our 
knowing  her."  "But  suppose  I  were,"  had  replied  Mr. 
Carr,  with  affected  humor.  "Then  you  certainly  would  n't 
care  for  any  one  like  her,"  his  daughter  had  responded 
triumphantly.  Mr.  Carr  smiled,  and  dropped  the  sub- 
ject, but  it  is  probable  that  his  daughters'  want  of  sym- 
pathy with  his  acquaintances  did  not  in  the  least  interfere 
with  his  social  prestige.  A  gentleman  in  all  his  relations 
and  under  all  circumstances,  even  his  cold  scientific  abstrac- 
tion was  provocative;  rich  men  envied  his  lofty  ignorance 
of  the  smaller  details  of  money-making,  even  while  they 
mistrusted  his  judgment.  A  man  still  well  preserved, 
and  free  from  weakening  vices,  he  was  a  dangerous  rival  to 
younger  and  faster  San  Francisco,  in  the  eyes  of  the  sex,  who 
knew  how  to  value  a  repose  they  did  not  themselves  possess. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Carr  announced  his  intention  of  proceed- 
ing to  Sacramento,  on  further  business  of  the  mine,  leav- 
ing his  two  daughters  in  the  family  of  a  wealthy  friend 
until  he  should  return  for  them.  He  opposed  their  ready 
suggestion  to  return  to  Devil's  Ford  with  a  new  and  un- 
necessary inflexibility:  he  even  met  their  compromise  to 
accompany  him  to  Sacramento  with  equal  decision. 

"You  will  only  be  in  my  way,"  he  said  curtly.  "Enjoy 
yourselves  here  while  you  can." 

Thus  left  to  themselves,  they  tried  to  accept  his  advice. 
Possibly  some  slight  reaction  to  their  previous  disappoint- 
ment may  have  already  set  in ;  perhaps  they  felt  any  dis- 
traction to  be  a  relief  to  their  anxiety  about  their  father. 


394  DEVIL'S  FORD 

They  went  out  more ;  they  frequented  concerts  and  parties ; 
they  accepted,  with  their  host  and  his  family,  an  invitation 
to  one  of  those  opulent  and  barbaric  entertainments  with 
which  a  noted  San  Francisco  millionaire  distracted  his  rare 
moments  of  reflection  in  his  gorgeous  palace  on  the  hills. 
Here  they  would  at  least  be  once  more  in  the  country  they 
loved,  albeit  of  a  milder  and  less  heroic  type,  and  a  little 
degraded  by  the  overlapping  tinsel  and  scattered  spangles 
of  the  palace. 

It  was  a  three  days'  fete;  the  style  and  choice  of  amuse- 
ments left  to  the  guests,  and  an  equal  and  active  participa- 
tion by  no  means  necessary  or  indispensable.  Consequently, 
when  Christie  and  Jessie  Carr  proposed  a  ride  through  the 
adjacent  cafion  on  the  second  morning,  they  had  no  difficulty 
in  finding  horses  in  the  well-furnished  stables  of  their 
opulent  entertainers,  nor  cavaliers  among  the  other  guests, 
who  were  too  happy  to  find  favor  in  the  eyes  of  two  pretty 
girls  who  were  supposed  to  be  abnormally  fastidious  and 
refined.  Christie's  escort  was  a  good-natured  young  banker, 
shrewd  enough  to  avoid  demonstrative  attentions,  and  lucky 
enough  to  interest  her  during  the  ride  with  his  clear  and 
half-humorous  reflections  on  some  of  the  business  specula- 
tions of  the  day.  If  his  ideas  were  occasionally  too  clever, 
and  not  always  consistent  with  a  high  sense  of  honor,  she 
was  none  the  less  interested  to  know  the  ethics  of  that  world 
of  speculation  into  which  her  father  had  plunged,  and  the 
more  convinced,  with  a  mingled  sense  of  pride  and  anxiety, 
that  his  still  dominant  gentlemanhood  would  prevent  his 
coping  with  it  on  equal  terms.  Nor  could  she  help  contrast- 
ing the  conversation  of  the  sharp-witted  man  at  her  side 
with  what  she  still  remembered  of  the  vague,  touching, 
boyish  enthusiasm  of  the  millionaires  of  Devil's  Ford.  Had 
her  escort  guessed  the  result  of  this  contrast,  he  would 
hardly  have  been  as  gratified  as  he  was  with  the  grave 
attention  of  her  beautiful  eyes. 


DEVIL'S  FORD  395 

The  fascination  of  a  gracious  day  and  the  leafy  solitude 
of  the  canon  led  them  to  prolong  their  ride  beyond  the  pro- 
posed limit,  and  it  became  necessary  towards  sunset  for 
them  to  seek  some  shorter  cut  home. 

"There's  a  vaquero  in  yonder  field,"  said  Christie's 
escort,  who  was  riding  with  her  a  little  in  advance  of  the 
others,  "and  those  fellows  know  every  trail  that  a  horse 
can  follow.  I  '11  ride  on,  intercept  him,  and  try  my  Span- 
ish on  him.  If  I  miss  him,  as  he  's  galloping  on,  you 
might  try  your  hand  on  him  yourself.  He  '11  understand 
your  eyes,  Miss  Carr,  in  any  language." 

As  he  dashed  away,  to  cover  his  first  audacity  of  com- 
pliment, Christie  lifted  the  eyes  thus  apostrophized  to  the 
opposite  field.  The  vaquero,  who  was  chasing  some  cattle, 
was  evidently  too  preoccupied  to  heed  the  shouts  of  her 
companion,  and  wheeling  round  suddenly  to  intercept  one 
of  the  deviating  fugitives,  permitted  Christie's  escort  to 
dash  past  him  before  that  gentleman  could  rein  in  his  ex- 
cited steed.  This  brought  the  vaquero  directly  in  her  path. 
Perceiving  her,  he  threw  his  horse  back  on  its  haunches,  to 
prevent  a  collision.  Christie  rode  up  to  him,  suddenly 
uttered  a  cry,  and  halted.  For  before  her,  sunburnt  in 
cheek  and  throat,  darker  in  the  free  growth  of  mustache 
and  curling  hair,  clad  in  the  coarse,  picturesque  finery  of 
his  class,  undisguised  only  in  his  boyish  beauty,  sat  George 
Kearney. 

The  blood  that  had  forsaken  her  astonished  face  rushed 
as  quickly  back.  His  eyes,  which  had  suddenly  sparkled 
with  an  electrical  glow,  sank  before  hers.  His  hand 
dropped,  and  his  cheek  flushed  with  a  dark  embarrassment. 

"  You  here,  Mr.  Kearney  ?  How  strange !  —  but  how 
glad  I  am  to  meet  you  again ! " 

She  tried  to  smile;  her  voice  trembled,  and  her  little 
hand  shook  as  she  extended  it  to  him. 

He  raised  his  dark  eyes  quickly,  and  impulsively  urged 


396  DEVIL'S  FORD 

his  horse  to  her  side.  But,  as  if  suddenly  awakening  to 
the  reality  of  the  situation,  he  glanced  at  her  hurriedly, 
down  at  his  barbaric  finery,  and  threw  a  searching  look 
towards  her  escort. 

In  an  instant  Christie  saw  the  infelicity  of  her  position, 
and  its  dangers.  The  words  of  Whiskey  Dick,  "He 
wouldn't  stand  that,"  flashed  across  her  mind.  There  was 
no  time  to  lose.  The  banker  had  already  gained  control 
over  his  horse,  and  was  approaching  them,  all  unconscious 
of  the  fixed  stare  with  which  George  was  regarding  him. 
Christie  hastily  seized  the  hand  which  he  had  allowed  to 
fall  at  his  side,  and  said  quickly :  — 

"Will  you  ride  with  me  a  little  way,  Mr.  Kearney?" 

He  turned  the  same  searching  look  upon  her.  She  met 
it  clearly  and  steadily;  he  even  thought  reproachfully. 

"  Do !  "  she  said  hurriedly.  "  I  ask  it  as  a  favor.  I 
want  to  speak  to  you.  Jessie  and  I  are  here  alone.  Father 
is  away.  You  are  one  of  our  oldest  friends." 

He  hesitated.  She  turned  to  the  astonished  young 
banker,  who  rode  up. 

"I  have  just  met  an  old  friend.  Will  you  please  ride 
back  as  quickly  as  you  can,  and  tell  Jessie  that  Mr.  Kear- 
ney is  here,  and  ask  her  to  join  us  1 " 

She  watched  her  dazed  escort,  still  speechless  from  the 
spectacle  of  the  fastidious  Miss  Carr  tete-a-tete  with  a  com- 
mon Mexican  vaquero,  gallop  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
canon,  and  then  turned  to  George. 

"Now  take  me  home,  the  shortest  way,  as  quick  as  you 
can." 

"  Home  1 "  echoed  George. 

"I  mean  to  Mr.  Prince's  house.  Quick!  before  they  can 
come  up  to  us." 

He  mechanically  put  spurs  to  his  horse;  she  followed. 
They  presently  struck  into  a  trail  that  soon  diverged  again 
into  a  disused  logging  track  through  the  woods. 


DEVIL'S  FOKD  397 

"This  is  the  short  cut  to  Prince's,  by  two  miles,"  he 
said,  as  they  entered  the  woods. 

As  they  were  still  galloping,  without  exchanging  a  word, 
Christie  began  to  slacken  her  speed;  George  did  the  same. 
They  were  safe  from  intrusion  at  the  present,  even  if  the 
others  had  found  the  short  cut.  Christie,  bold  and  self- 
reliant  a  moment  ago,  suddenly  found  herself  growing  weak 
and  embarrassed.  What  had  she  done? 

She  checked  her  horse  suddenly. 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  wait  for  them,"  she  said  timidly. 

George  had  not  raised  his  eyes  to  hers. 

"You  said  you  wanted  to  hurry  home,"  he  replied 
gently,  passing  his  hand  along  his  mustang's  velvety  neck, 
"and  —  and  you  had  something  to  say  to  me." 

"Certainly,"  she  answered,  with  a  faint  laugh.  "I  'm  so 
astonished  at  meeting  you  here.  I  'm  quite  bewildered. 
You  are  living  here;  you  have  forsaken  us  to  buy  a 
ranch  ?  "  she  continued,  looking  at  him  attentively. 

His  brow  colored  slightly. 

"No,  I'm  living  here,  but  I  have  bought  no  ranch. 
I  'm  only  a  hired  man  on  somebody  else's  ranch,  to  look 
after  the  cattle." 

He  saw  her  beautiful  eyes  fill  with  astonishment  and 
—  something  else.  His  brow  cleared;  he  went  on,  with 
his  old  boyish  laugh. 

"No,  Miss  Carr.  The  fact  is,  I  'm  dead  broke.  I  've 
lost  everything  since  I  saw  you  last.  But  as  I  know  how 
to  ride,  and  I  'm  not  afraid  of  work,  I  manage  to  keep 
along. " 

"  You  have  lost  money  in  —  in  the  mines  ?  "  said  Christie 
suddenly. 

"  No  "  —  he  replied  quickly,  evading  her  eyes.  "  My 
brother  has  my  interest,  you  know.  I  've  been  foolish  on 
my  own  account  solely.  You  know  I  'm  rather  inclined 
to  that  sort  of  thing.  But  as  long  as  my  folly  don't  affect 
others,  I  can  stand  it." 


398  DEVIL'S  FORD 

"  But  it  may  affect  others  —  and  they  may  not  tliink  of 
it  as  folly  "  —  She  stopped  short,  confused  by  his  brighten- 
ing color  and  eyes.  "I  mean  —  Oh,  Mr.  Kearney,  I  want 
you  to  be  frank  with  me.  I  know  nothing  of  business, 
but  I  know  there  has  been  trouble  about  the  mine  at  Devil's 
Ford.  Tell  me  honestly,  has  my  father  anything  to  do 
with  it?  If  I  thought  that,  through  any  imprudence  of 
his,  you  had  suffered  —  if  I  believed  that  you  could  trace 
any  misfortune  of  yours  to  him  —  to  us  —  I  should  never 
forgive  myself  "  —  she  stopped  and  flashed  a  single  look  at 
him  —  "I  should  never  forgive  you  for  abandoning  us." 

The  look  of  pain  which  had  at  first  shown  itself  in  his 
face,  which  never  concealed  anything,  passed,  and  a  quick 
smile  followed  her  feminine  anticlimax. 

"Miss  Carr,"  he  said,  with  boyish  eagerness,  "if  any 
man  suggested  to  me  that  your  father  was  n't  the  brightest 
and  best  of  his  kind  —  too  wise  and  clever  for  the  fools 
about  him  to  understand  —  I  'd  —  I  'd  shoot  him." 

Confused  by  his  ready  and  gracious  disclaimer  of  what 
she  had  not  intended  to  say,  there  was  nothing  left  for  her 
but  to  rush  upon  what  she  really  intended  to  say,  with 
what  she  felt  was  shameful  precipitation. 

"One  word  more,  Mr.  Kearney,"  she  began,  looking 
down,  but  feeling  the  color  come  to  her  face  as  she  spoke. 
"When  you  spoke  to  me  the  day  you  left,  you  must  have 
thought  me  hard  and  cruel.  When  I  tell  you  that  I 
thought  you  were  alluding  to  Jessie  and  some  feeling  you 
had  for  her  "  — 

"For  Jessie!"  echoed  George. 

"  You  will  understand  that  —  that »  — 

"  That  what  1 "  said  George,  drawing  nearer  to  her. 

"That  I  was  only  speaking  as  she  might  have  spoken 
had  you  talked  to  her  of  me,"  added  Christie  hurriedly, 
slightly  backing  her  horse  away  from  him. 

But  this  was  not  so  easy,  as  George  was  the  better  rider, 


DEVIL'S  FORD  399 

and  by  an  imperceptible  movement  of  his  wrist  and  foot 
had  glued  his  horse  to  her  side.  "He  will  go  now,"  she 
had  thought,  but  he  didn't. 

"We  must  ride  on,"  she  suggested  faintly. 

"No,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  dropping  of  his  boyish 
manner  and  a  slight  lifting  of  his  head.  "We  must  ride 
together  no  further,  Miss  Carr.  I  must  go  back  to  the 
work  I  am  hired  to  do,  and  you  must  go  on  with  your 
party,  whom  I  hear  coming.  But  when  we  part  here  you 
must  bid  me  good-by  —  not  as  Jessie's  sister  —  but  as 
Christie  —  the  one  —  the  only  woman  that  I  love,  or  that 
I  ever  have  loved." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  With  the  recollection  of  their 
previous  parting,  she  tremblingly  advanced  her  own. 
He  took  it,  but  did  not  raise  it  to  his  lips.  And  it  was 
she  who  found  herself  half  confusedly  retaining  his  hand 
in  hers,  until  she  dropped  it  with  a  blush. 

"Then  is  this  the  reason  you  give  for  deserting  us  as 
you  have  deserted  Devil's  Ford? "  she  said  coldly. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  to  her  with  a  strange  smile,  and  said, 
"  Yes, "  wheeled  his  horse,  and  disappeared  in  the  forest. 

He  had  left  her  thus  abruptly  once  before,  kissed,  blush- 
ing, and  indignant.  He  was  leaving  her  now,  unkissed, 
but  white  and  indignant.  Yet  she  was  so  self-possessed 
when  the  party  joined  her,  that  the  singular  rencontre  and 
her  explanation  of  the  stranger's  sudden  departure  excited 
no  further  comment.  Only  Jessie  managed  to  whisper  in 
her  ear : — 

"I  hope  you  are  satisfied  now  that  it  wasn't  me  he 
meant  ? " 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Christie  coldly. 


CHAPTER  TO 

A  FEW  days  after  the  girls  had  returned  to  San  Fran- 
cisco they  received  a  letter  from  their  father.  His  busi- 
ness, he  wrote,  would  detain  him  in  Sacramento  some  days 
longer.  There  was  no  reason  why  they  should  return  to 
Devil's  Ford  in  the  heat  of  the  summer;  their  host  had 
written  to  beg  him  to  allow  them  a  more  extended  visit, 
and  if  they  were  enjoying  themselves,  he  thought  it  would 
be  well  not  to  disoblige  an  old  friend.  He  had  heard  they 
had  a  pleasant  visit  to  Mr.  Prince's  place,  and  that  a  cer- 
tain young  banker  had  been  very  attentive  to  Christie. 

"Do  you  know  what  all  this  means,  dear?  "  asked  Jes- 
sie, who  had  been  watching  her  sister  with  an  unusually 
grave  face. 

Christie,  whose  thoughts  had  wandered  from  the  letter, 
replied  carelessly :  — 

"I  suppose  it  means  that  we  are  to  wait  here  until  fa- 
ther sends  for  us." 

"  It  means  a  good  deal  more.  It  means  that  papa  has 
had  another  reverse ;  it  means  that  the  assay  has  turned  out 
badly  for  the  mine  —  that  the  further  they  go  from  the  flat 
the  worse  it  gets  —  that  all  the  gold  they  will  probably 
ever  see  at  Devil's  Ford  is  what  they  have  already  found 
or  will  find  on  the  flat;  it  means  that  all  Devil's  Ford  is 
only  a  '  pocket, '  and  not  a  '  lead. '  "  She  stopped,  with 
unexpected  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Who  told  you  this?"  asked  Christie  breathlessly. 

"Fairfax  —  Mr.  Munroe,"  stammered  her  sister,  "writes 
to  me  as  if  we  already  knew  it  —  tells  me  not  to  be  alarmed, 
that  it  isn't  so  bad  — and  all  that." 


DEVIL'S  FOKD  401 

"  How  long  has  this  happened,  Jessie  ? "  said  Christie, 
taking  her  hand,  with  a  white  but  calm  face. 

"Nearly  ever  since  we've  been  here,  I  suppose.  It 
must  be  so,  for  he  says  poor  papa  is  still  hopeful  of  doing 
something  yet." 

"  And  Mr.  Munroe  writes  to  you  ? "  said  Christie  ab- 
stractedly. 

"  Of  course, "  said  Jessie  quickly.  "  He  feels  interested 
in  —  us." 

"Nobody  tells  me  anything,"  said  Christie. 

"Didn't"  — 

"No,"  said  Christie  bitterly. 

"  What  on  earth  did  you  talk  about  1  But  people  don't 
confide  in  you  because  they  're  afraid  of  you.  You  're 
so"  — 

"So  what?" 

"So  gently  patronizing,  and  so  '  I-don't-suppose-you-can- 
help-it, -poor- thing, '  in  your  general  style,"  said  Jessie,  kiss- 
ing her.  "  There !  I  only  wish  I  was  like  you.  What  do 
you  say  if  we  write  to  father  that  we  '11  go  back  to  Devil's 
Ford  ?  Mr.  Munroe  thinks  we  will  be  of  service  there  just 
now.  If  the  men  are  dissatisfied,  and  think  we  're  spend- 
ing money  "  — 

"I'm  afraid  Mr.  Munroe  is  hardly  a  disinterested  ad- 
viser. At  least,  I  don't  think  it  would  look  quite  decent 
for  you  to  fly  back  without  your  father,  at  his  suggestion," 
said  Christie  coldly.  "He  is  not  the  only  partner.  We  're 
spending  no  money.  Besides,  we  have  engaged  to  go  to 
Mr.  Prince's  again  next  week." 

"As  you  like,  dear,"  said  Jessie,  turning  away  to  hide 
a  faint  smile. 

Nevertheless,  when  they  returned  from  their  visit  to 
Mr.  Prince's,  and  one  or  two  uneventful  rides,  Christie 
looked  grave.  It  was  only  a  few  days  later  that  Jessie 
burst  upon  her  one  morning. 


402  DEVIL'S  FORD 

"You  were  saying  that  nobody  ever  tells  you  anything. 
Well,  here  's  your  chance.  Whiskey  Dick  is  below." 

"  Whiskey  Dick  ?  "  repeated  Christie.  "  What  does  he 
want  ? » 

"  You,  love.  Who  else  ?  You  know  he  always  scorns 
me  as  not  being  high-toned  and  elegant  enough  for  his 
social  confidences.  He  asked  for  you  only." 

With  an  uneasy  sense  of  some  impending  revelation, 
Christie  descended  to  the  drawing-room.  As  she  opened 
the  door,  a  strong  flavor  of  that  toilet  soap  and  eau  de  Co- 
logne with  which  Whiskey  Dick  was  in  the  habit  of  grace- 
fully effacing  the  traces  of  dissipation  made  known  his 
presence.  In  spite  of  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  whose  pristine 
folds  refused  to  adapt  themselves  entirely  to  the  contour 
of  his  figure,  he  was  somewhat  subdued  by  the  unexpected 
elegance  of  the  drawing-room  of  Christie's  host.  But  a 
glance  at  Christie's  sad,  but  gracious  face  quickly  reassured 
him.  Taking  from  his  hat  a  three-cornered  parcel,  he 
unfolded  a  handsome  saffrona  rose,  which  he  gravely  pre- 
sented to  her.  Having  thus  reestablished  his  position,  he 
sank  elegantly  into  a  tete-a-tete  ottoman.  Finding  the 
position  inconvenient  to  face  Christie,  who  had  seated 
herself  on  a  chair,  he  transferred  himself  to  the  other  side 
of  the  ottoman,  and  addressed  her  over  its  back  as  from  a 
pulpit. 

"  Is  this  really  a  fortunate  accident,  Mr.  Hall,  or  did  you 
try  to  find  us  1 "  said  Christie  pleasantly. 

"Partly  promiskuss,  and  partly  coincident,  Miss  Chris- 
tie, one  up  and  t'other  down,"  said  Dick  lightly.  "Work 
being  slack  at  present  at  Devil's  Ford  I  reck'ned  I  'd  take 
a  pasear  down  to  'Frisco,  and  dip  into  the  vortex  o'  fash'na- 
ble  society  and  out  again. "  He  lightly  waved  a  new  hand- 
kerchief to  illustrate  his  swallow-like  intrusion.  "This 
yer  minglin'  with  the  bo-tong  is  apt  to  be  wearisome,  ez 
you  and  me  knows,  unless  combined  with  experience  and 


DEVIL'S  FORD  403 

judgment.  So  when  them  boys  up  there  allows  that 
there  's  a  little  too  much  fash'nable  society  and  San  Fran- 
cisco capital  and  highfalutin'  about  the  future  goin'  on  fer 
square  surface  mining,  I  sez,  '  Look  yere,  gentlemen, '  sez  I, 
'  you  don't  see  the  pint.  The  pint  is,  to  get  the  pop'lar 
eye  fixed,  so  to  speak,  on  Devil's  Ford.  When  a  fash'n- 
able star  rises  above  the  'Frisco  horizon  —  like  Miss  Carr 

—  and,  so  to  speak,   dazzles  the  gineral  eye,  people  want 
to  know  who  she  is.      And  when  people  say  that 's  the 
accomplished  daughter  o'  the  accomplished  superintendent 
of  the  Devil's  Ford  claim  —  otherwise  known  as  the  Star- 
eyed  Goddess  o'  Devil's  Ford  —  every  eye  is  fixed  on  the 
mine,   and    Capital,   so  to  speak,   tumbles  to  her.'     And 
when  they  sez  that  the  old  man  —  excuse  my  freedom,  but 
that 's  the  way  the  boys  talk  of  your  father,  meaning  no 
harm  —  the  old  man,  instead  o'  trying  to  corral  rich  wid- 
ders  —  grass  or  otherwise  —  to  spend  their  money  on  the 
big  works  for  the  gold  that  ain't  there  yet  —  should  stay  in 
Devil's  Ford  and  put  all  his  sabe  and  genius  into  grindin' 
out  the  little  gold  that  is  there,  I  sez  to  them  that  it  ain't 
your  father's  style.      '  His  style, '  sez  I,  '  ez  to  go  in  and 
build  them  works. '     When  they  're  done  he  turns  round 
to  Capital,  and  sez  he  —  '  Look  yer, '   sez  he,  '  thar  's  all 
the  works  you  want,  first  quality  —  cost  a  million;  thar  's 
all  the  water  you  want,  onlimited  —  cost  another  million; 
thar  's  all  the  pay  gravel  you  want  in  and  outer  the  ground 

—  call  it  two  millions  more.      Now  my  time  's  too  vally- 
'ble;  my  professhun  's  too  high-toned  to  work  mines.     I 
make  'em.      Hand  me  over  a  check  for  ten  millions  and 
call  it  square  and  work  it  for  yourself. '     So  Capital  hands 
over  the  money  and  waltzes  down  to  run  the  mine,  and 
you  original  locators  walks  round  with  yer  hands  in  yer 
pockets  atop  of  your  six  million  profit,  and  you  lets  Capi- 
tal take  the  work  and  the  responsibility." 

Preposterous  as  this  seemed  from  the  lips  of  Whiskey 


404  DEVIL'S  FORD 

Dick,  Christie  had  a  haunting  suspicion  that  it  was  not 
greatly  unlike  the  theories  expounded  by  the  clever  young 
banker  who  had  been  her  escort.  She  did  not  interrupt 
his  flow  of  reminiscent  criticism;  when  he  paused  for 
breath,  she  said  quietly :  — 

"I  met  Mr.  George  Kearney  the  other  day  in  the  coun- 
try." 

Whiskey  Dick  stopped  awkwardly,  glanced  hurriedly  at 
Christie,  and  coughed  behind  his  handkerchief. 

"  Mr.  Kearney  —  eh  —  er  —  certengly  —  yes  —  er  —  met 
him,  you  say.  Was  he  —  er  —  er  —  well  ?  " 

"In  health,  yes;  but  otherwise  he  has  lost  everything,'' 
said  Christie,  fixing  her  eyes  on  the  embarrassed  Dick. 

"  Yes  —  er  —  in  course  —  in  course  "  —  continued  Dick, 
nervously  glancing  round  the  apartment  as  if  endeavoring 
to  find  an  opening  to  some  less  abrupt  statement  of  the  fact. 

"  And  actually  reduced  to  take  some  menial  employment, " 
added  Christie,  still  regarding  Dick  with  her  clear  glance. 

"That 'sit  —  that 's  just  it,"  said  Dick,  beaming  as  he 
suddenly  found  his  delicate  and  confidential  opportunity. 
"That's  it,  Miss  Christie;  that's  just  what  I  was  say  in' 
to  the  boys.  '  Ez  it  the  square  thing, '  sez  I,  '  jest  because 
George  hez  happened  to  hypothecate  every  dollar  he  has, 
or  expects  to  hev,  to  put  into  them  works,  only  to  please 
Mr.  Carr,  and  just  because  he  don't  want  to  distress  that 
intelligent  gentleman  by  letting  him  see  he  's  dead  broke 
—  for  him  to  go  and  demean  himself  and  Devil's  Ford  by 
rushing  away  and  hiring  out  as  a  Mexican  vaquero  on  Mex- 
ican wages  1  Look, '  sez  I,  '  at  the  disgrace  he  brings  upon 
a  high-toned,  fash'nable  girl,  at  whose  side  he  's  walked 
and  danced,  and  passed  rings,  and  sentiments,  and  bokays 
in  the  changes  o'  the  cotillion  and  the  mizzourka.  And 
wot, '  sez  I,  '  if  some  day,  prancing  along  in  a  fash'nable 
cavalcade,  she  all  of  a  suddents  comes  across  him  drivin' 
a  Mexican  steer  1 '  That 's  what  I  said  to  the  boys. 


DEVIL'S  FORD  405 

And  so  you  met  him,  Miss  Christie,  as  usual,"  continued 
Dick,  endeavoring  under  the  appearance  of  a  large  social 
experience  to  conceal  an  eager  anxiety  to  know  the  details 
—  "so  you  met  him;  and,  in  course,  you  didn't  let  on  yer 
knew  him,  so  to  speak,  nat' rally,  or  p'r'aps  you  kinder  like 
asked  him  to  fix  your  saddle-girth,  and  give  him  a  five- 
dollar  piece  —  eh 1 " 

Christie,  who  had  risen  and  gone  to  the  window,  sud- 
denly turned  a  very  pale  face  and  shining  eyes  on  Dick. 

"Mr.  Hall,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  attempt  at  a  smile, 
"  we  are  old  friends,  and  I  feel  I  can  ask  you  a  favor.  You 
once  before  acted  as  our  escort  —  it  was  for  a  short  but  a 
happy  time  —  will  you  accept  a  larger  trust  1  My  father  is 
busy  in  Sacramento  for  the  mine:  will  you,  without  saying 
anything  to  anybody,  take  Jessie  and  me  back  at  once  to 
Devil's  Ford?" 

"Will  I?  Miss  Christie,"  said  Dick,  choking  between 
an  intense  gratification  and  a  desire  to  keep  back  its  vulgar 
exhibition,  "  I  shall  be  proud !  " 

"When  I  say  keep  it  a  secret"  —  she  hesitated  —  "I 
don't  mean  that  I  object  to  your  letting  Mr.  Kearney,  if 
you  happen  to  know  where  he  is,  understand  that  we  are 
going  back  to  Devil's  Ford." 

"Cert'nly —  nat'rally,"  said  Dick,  waving  his  hand 
gracefully ;  "  sorter  drop  him  a  line,  saying  that  bizness  of 
a  social  and  delicate  nature  —  being  the  escort  of  Miss 
Christie  and  Jessie  Carr  to  Devil's  Ford  —  prevents  my 
having  the  pleasure  of  calling." 

"That  will  do  very  well,  Mr.  Hall,"  said  Christie, 
faintly  smiling  through  her  moist  eyelashes.  "  Then  will 
you  go  at  once  and  secure  tickets  for  to-night's  boat,  and 
bring  them  here?  Jessie  and  I  will  arrange  everything 
else." 

"Cert'nly,"  said  Dick  impulsively,  and  preparing  to 
take  a  graceful  leave. 


406  DEVIL'S  FORD 

"We  '11  be  impatient  until  you  return  with  the  tickets," 
said  Christie  graciously. 

Dick  shook  hands  gravely,  got  as  far  as  the  door,  and 
paused. 

"  You  think  it  better  to  take  the  tickets  now  ? "  he  said 
dubiously. 

"By  all  means,"  said  Christie  impetuously.  "I've  set 
my  heart  on  going  to-night  —  and  unless  you  secure  berths 
early  "  — 

"In  course  —  in  course,"  interrupted  Dick  nervously. 
"But"  — 

"But  what?  "  said  Christie  impatiently. 

Dick  hesitated,  shut  the  door  carefully,  and  looking 
round  the  room,  lightly  shook  out  his  handkerchief,  appar- 
ently flicked  away  an  embarrassing  suggestion,  and  said,  with 
a  little  laugh :  — 

"It 's  ridiklous,  perfectly  ridiklous,  Miss  Christie;  but 
not  bein'  in  the  habit  of  carryin'  ready  money,  and  havin' 
omitted  to  cash  a  draft  on  Wells,  Fargo  &  Co. "  — 

"Of  course,"  said  Christie  rapidly.  "How  forgetful  I 
am !  Pray  forgive  me,  Mr.  Hall.  I  did  n't  think.  I  '11 
run  up  and  get  it  from  our  host;  he  will  be  glad  to  be  our 
banker." 

"One  moment,  Miss  Christie,"  said  Dick  lightly,  as  his 
thumb  and  finger  relaxed  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  over  the 
only  piece  of  money  in  the  world  that  had  remained  to  him 
after  his  extravagant  purchase  of  Christie's  saffrona  rose, 
"one  moment:  in  this  yer  monetary  transaction,  if  you 
like,  you  are  at  liberty  to  use  my  name." 


CHAPTER  VIH 

As  Christie  and  Jessie  Carr  looked  from  the  windows  of 
the  coach,  whose  dust-clogged  wheels  were  slowly  dragging 
them,  as  if  reluctant,  nearer  the  last  stage  of  their  journey 
to  Devil's  Ford,  they  were  conscious  of  a  change  in  the 
landscape,  which  they  could  not  entirely  charge  upon  their 
changed  feelings.  The  few  bared  open  spaces  on  the  up- 
land, the  long  stretch  of  rocky  ridge  near  the  summit,  so 
vivid  and  so  velvety  during  their  first  journey,  were  now 
burnt  and  yellow;  even  the  brief  openings  in  the  forest 
were  seared  as  if  by  a  hot  iron  in  the  scorching  rays  of  a 
half  year's  sun.  The  pastoral  slopes  of  the  valley  below 
were  cloaked  in  lustreless  leather:  the  rare  watercourses 
along  the  road  had  faded  from  the  waiting  eye  and  ear;  it 
seemed  as  if  the  long  and  dry  summer  had  even  invaded 
the  close-set  ranks  of  pines,  and  had  blown  a  simoom  breath 
through  the  densest  woods,  leaving  its  charred  red  ashes 
on  every  leaf  and  spray  along  the  tunneled  shade.  As 
they  leaned  out  of  the  window  and  inhaled  the  half-dead 
spices  of  the  evergreens,  they  seemed  to  have  entered  the 
atmosphere  of  some  exhausted  passion  —  of  some  fierce 
excitement  that  was  even  now  slowly  burning  itself  out. 

It  was  a  relief  at  last  to  see  the  straggling  houses  of 
Devil's  Ford  far  below  come  once  more  into  view,  as  they 
rounded  the  shoulder  of  Devil's  Spur  and  began  the  long 
descent.  But  as  they  entered  the  town  a  change  more 
ominous  and  startling  than  the  desiccation  of  the  landscape 
forced  itself  upon  them.  The  town  was  still  there,  but 
where  were  the  inhabitants?  Four  months  ago  they  had 


408  DEVIL'S  FOED 

left  the  straggling  street  thronged  with  busy  citizens  — 
groups  at  every  corner,  and  a  chaos  of  merchandise  and  trad- 
ers in  the  open  plaza  or  square  beside  the  Presbyterian 
church.  Now,  all  was  changed.  Only  a  few  wayfarers 
lifted  their  heads  lazily  as  the  coach  rattled  by,  crossing  the 
deserted  square  littered  with  empty  boxes,  and  gliding  past 
empty  cabins  or  vacant  shop  windows,  from  which  not 
only  familiar  faces,  but  even  the  window-sashes  themselves, 
were  gone.  The  great  unfinished  serpent  -  like  flume, 
crossing  the  river  on  gigantic  trestles,  had  advanced  as  far 
as  the  town,  stooping  over  it  like  some  enormous  reptile 
that  had  sucked  its  life-blood  and  was  gorged  with  its  prey. 

Whiskey  Dick,  who  had  left  the  stage  on  the  summit  to 
avail  himself  of  a  shorter  foot  trail  to  the  house,  that 
would  give  him  half  an  hour's  grace  to  make  preparations, 
met  them  at  the  stage  office  with  a  buggy.  A  glance  at 
the  young  girls,  perhaps,  convinced  him  that  the  graces  of 
elegant  worldly  conversation  were  out  of  place  with  the 
revelation  he  read  on  their  faces.  Perhaps  he,  too,  was  a 
trifle  indisposed.  The  short  journey  to  the  house  was 
made  in  profound  silence. 

The  villa  had  been  repainted  and  decorated,  and  it 
looked  fresher,  and  even,  to  their  preoccupied  minds,  ap- 
peared more  attractive  than  ever.  Thoughtful  hands  had 
taken  care  of  the  vines  and  rose-bushes  on  the  trellises; 
water  —  that  precious  element  in  Devil's  Ford  —  had  not 
been  spared  in  keeping  green  through  the  long  drought  the 
plants  which  the  girls  had  so  tenderly  nurtured.  It  was 
the  one  oasis  in  which  the  summer  still  lingered;  and  yet 
a  singular  sense  of  loss  came  over  the  girls  as  they  once 
more  crossed  its  threshold.  It  seemed  no  longer  their  own. 

"Ef  I  was  you,  Miss  Christie,  I  'd  keep  close  to  the  house 
for  a  day  or  two,  until  —  until  —  things  is  settled, "  said 
Dick;  "there's  a  heap  o'  tramps  and  sich  cattle  traipsin' 
round.  P'r'aps  you  wouldn't  feel  so  lonesome  if  you 


DEVIL'S  FORD  409 

was  nearer  town  —  for  instance,  'bout  wher'  you  useter 
live." 

"In  the  dear  old  cabin,"  said  Christie  quickly;  "I  re- 
member it;  I  wish  we  were  there  now." 

"  Do  you  really  1  Do  you  ?  "  said  Whiskey  Dick,  with 
suddenly  twinkling  eyes.  "That's  like  you  to  say  it. 
That 's  what  I  allus  said,"  continued  Dick,  addressing  space 
generally;  "if  there's  any  one  ez  knows  how  to  come 
square  down  to  the  bottom.rock  without  flinchin',  it 's  your 
high-toned,  fash'nable  gals.  But  I  must  meander  back  to 
town,  and  let  the  boys  know  you  're  in  possession,  safe  and 
sound.  It 's  right  mean  that  Fairfax  and  Mattingly  had  to 
go  down  to  La  Grange  on  some  low  business  yesterday, 
but  they  '11  be  back  to-morrow.  So  long." 

Left  alone,  the  girls  began  to  realize  their  strange  posi- 
tion. They  had  conceived  no  settled  plan.  The  night 
they  left  San  Francisco  they  had  written  an  earnest  letter 
to  their  father,  telling  him  that  on  learning  the  truth  about 
the  reverses  of  Devil's  Ford,  they  thought  it  their  duty  to 
return  and  share  them  with  others,  without  obliging  him 
to  prefer  the  request,  and  with  as  little  worry  to  him  as 
possible.  He  would  find  them  ready  to  share  his  trials, 
and  in  what  must  be  the  scene  of  their  work  hereafter. 

"It  will  bring  father  back,"  said  Christie;  "he  won't 
leave  us  here  alone;  and  then  together  we  must  come  to 
some  understanding  with  him  —  with  them  —  for  somehow 
I  feel  as  if  this  house  belonged  to  us  no  longer." 

Her  surmise  was  not  far  wrong.  When  Mr.  Carr  arrived 
hurriedly  from  Sacramento  the  next  evening,  he  found  the 
house  deserted.  His  daughters  were  gone;  there  were 
indications  that  they  had  arrived,  and,  for  some  reason, 
suddenly  departed.  The  vague  fear  that  had  haunted  his 
guilty  soul  after  receiving  their  letter,  and  during  his 
breathless  journey,  now  seemed  to  be  realized.  He  was 
turning  from  the  empty  house,  whose  reproachful  solitude 


410  DEVIL'S  FORD 

frightened  him,  when  he  was  confronted  on  the  threshold 
by  the  figure  of  Fairfax  Munroe. 

"I  came  to  the  stage  office  to  meet  you,"  he  said;  "you 
must  have  left  the  stage  at  the  summit." 

"I  did,"  said  Carr  angrily.  "I  was  anxious  to  meet  my 
daughters  quickly,  to  know  the  reason  of  their  foolish  alarm, 
and  to  know  also  who  had  been  frightening  them.  Where 
are  they  ? " 

"They  are  safe  in  the  old  cabin  beyond,  that  has  been 
put  up  ready  to  receive  them  again,"  said  Fairfax  quietly. 

"  But  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  Why  are  they  not 
here  1 "  demanded  Carr,  hiding  his  agitation  in  a  burst  of 
querulous  rage. 

"Do  you  ask,  Mr.  Carr?"  said  Fairfax  sadly.  "Did 
you  expect  them  to  remain  here  \mtil  the  sheriff  took  pos- 
session? No  one  knows  better  than  yourself  that  the 
money  advanced  you  on  the  deeds  of  this  homestead  has 
never  been  repaid." 

Carr  staggered,  but  recovered  himself  with  feeble  vio- 
lence. 

"Since  you  know  so  much  of  my  affairs,  how  do  you 
know  that  this  claim  will  ever  be  pressed  for  payment? 
How  do  you  know  it  is  not  the  advance  of  a  —  a  —  friend  1 " 

"Because  I  have  seen  the  woman  who  advanced  it," 
said  Fairfax  hopelessly.  "She  was  here  to  look  at  the 
property  before  your  daughters  came." 

"Well?"  said  Carr  nervously. 

"Well!  You  force  me  to  tell  you  something  I  should 
like  to  forget.  You  force  me  to  anticipate  a  disclosure  I 
expected  to  make  to  you  only  when  I  came  to  ask  permis- 
sion to  woo  your  daughter  Jessie;  and  when  I  tell  you 
what  it  is,  you  will  understand  that  I  have  no  right  to 
criticise  your  conduct.  I  am  only  explaining  my  own." 

"Go  on,"  said  Carr  impatiently. 

"When  I  first  came  to  this  country,  there  was  a  woman 


DEVIL'S  FORD  411 

I  loved  passionately.  She  treated  me  as  women  of  her 
kind  only  treat  men  like  me,  she  ruined  me,  and  left  me. 
That  was  four  years  ago.  I  love  your  daughter,  Mr.  Carr, 
but  she  has  never  heard  it  from  my  lips.  I  would  not 
woo  her  until  I  had  told  you  all.  I  have  tried  to  do  it 
ere  this,  and  failed.  Perhaps  I  should  not  now,  but "  — 

"But  what?  "  said  Carr  furiously;   "speak  out!  " 

"  But  this.  Look !  "  said  Fairfax,  producing  from  his 
pocket  the  packet  of  letters  Jessie  had  found;  "perhaps 
you  know  the  handwriting  1 " 

"  What  do  you  mean  1  "  gasped  Carr. 

"That  woman  —  my  mistress  —  is  the  woman  who  ad- 
vanced you  money,  and  who  claims  this  house." 

The  interview,  and  whatever  came  of  it,  remained  a 
secret  with  the  two  men.  When  Mr.  Carr  accepted  the 
hospitality  of  the  old  cabin  again,  it  was  understood  that  he 
had  sacrificed  the  new  house  and  its  furniture  to  some  of 
the  more  pressing  debts  of  the  mine,  and  the  act  went  far 
to  restore  his  waning  popularity.  But  a  more  genuine 
feeling  of  relief  was  experienced  by  Devil's  Ford  when  it 
was  rumored  that  Fairfax  Munroe  had  asked  for  the  hand 
of  Jessie  Carr,  and  that  some  promise,  contingent  upon  the 
equitable  adjustment  of  the  affairs  of  the  mine,  had  been 
given  by  Mr.  Carr.  To  the  superstitious  mind  of  Devil's 
Ford  and  its  few  remaining  locators,  this  new  partnership 
seemed  to  promise  that  unity  of  interest  and  stability  of 
fortune  that  Devil's  Ford  had  lacked.  But  nothing  could 
be  done  until  the  rainy  season  had  set  fairly  in;  until  the 
long-looked-for  element  that  was  to  magically  separate  the 
gold  from  the  dross  in  those  dull  mounds  of  dust  and  gravel 
had  come  of  its  own  free  will,  and  in  its  own  appointed  chan- 
nels, independent  of  the  feeble  auxiliaries  that  had  hope- 
lessly riven  the  rocks  on  the  hillside,  or  hung  incomplete 
and  unfinished  in  lofty  scaffoldings  above  the  settlement. 


412  DEVIL'S  FORD 

The  rainy  season  came  early.  At  first  in  gathered  mists 
on  the  higher  peaks  that  were  lifted  in  the  morning  sun 
only  to  show  a  fresher  field  of  dazzling  white  below;  in 
white  clouds  that  at  first  seemed  to  be  mere  drifts  blown 
across  from  those  fresh  snow-fields,  and  obscuring  the  clear 
blue  above;  in  far-off  murmurs  in  the  hollow  hills  and 
gulches;  in  nearer  tinkling  melody  and  baby  prattling  in 
the  leaves.  It  came  with  bright  flashes  of  sunlight  by  day, 
with  deep,  monotonous  shadow  at  night;  with  the  onset  of 
heavy  winds,  the  roar  of  turbulent  woods,  the  tumultuous 
tossing  of  leafy  arms,  and  with  what  seemed  the  silent 
dissolution  of  the  whole  landscape  in  days  of  steady  and 
uninterrupted  downfall.  It  came  extravagantly,  for  every 
canon  had  grown  into  a  torrent,  every  gulch  a  waterspout, 
every  watercourse  a  river,  and  all  pouring  into  the  Xortli 
Fork,  that,  rushing  past  the  settlement,  seemed  to  threaten 
it  with  lifted  crest  and  flying  mane.  It  came  dangerously, 
for  one  night  the  river,  leaping  the  feeble  barrier  of  Devil's 
Ford,  swept  away  houses  and  banks,  scattered  with  uncon- 
scious irony  the  laboriously  collected  heaps  of  gravel  left  for 
hydraulic  machinery,  and  spread  out  a  vast  and  silent  lake 
across  the  submerged  flat. 

In  the  hurry  and  confusion  of  that  night,  the  girls  had 
thrown  open  their  cabin  to  the  escaping  miners,  who  hur- 
ried along  the  slope  that  was  now  the  bank  of  the  river. 
Suddenly  Christie  felt  her  arm  grasped,  and  she  was  half 
led,  half  dragged,  into  the  inner  room.  Her  father  stood 
before  her. 

"  Where  is  George  Kearney  1  "  he  asked  tremulously. 

"  George  Kearney ! "  echoed  Christie,  for  a  moment 
believing  the  excitement  had  turned  her  father's  brain. 
"You  know  he  is  not  here;  he  is  in  San  Francisco." 

"He  is  here  —  I  tell  you,"  said  Carr  impatiently;  "he 
has  been  here  ever  since  the  high  water,  trying  to  save  the 
flume  and  reservoir." 


DEVIL'S  FOED  413 

"George  —  here!  "  Christie  could  only  gasp. 

"Yes!  He  passed  here  a  few  moments  ago,  to  see  if 
you  were  all  safe,  and  he  has  gone  on  towards  the  flume. 
But  what  he  is  trying  to  do  is  madness.  If  you  see  him, 
implore  him  to  do  no  more.  Let  him  abandon  the  accursed 
flume  to  its  fate.  It  has  worked  already  too  much  woe 
upon  us  all;  why  should  it  carry  his  hrave  and  youthful 
soul  down  with  it  1 " 

The  words  were  still  ringing  in  her  ears,  when  he  sud- 
denly passed  away,  with  the  hurrying  crowd.  Scarcely 
knowing  what  she  did,  she  ran  out,  vaguely  intent  only  on 
one  thought,  seeking  only  the  one  face,  lately  so  dear  in 
recollection  that  she  felt  she  would  die  if  she  never  saw  it 
again.  Perplexed  by  confused  voices  in  the  woods,  she 
lost  track  of  the  crowd,  until  the  voices  suddenly  were  raised 
in  one  loud  outcry,  followed  by  the  crashing  of  timber,  the 
splashing  of  water,  a  silence,  and  then  a  dull,  continuous 
roar.  She  ran  vaguely  on  in  the  direction  of  the  reservoir, 
with  her  father's  injunction  still  in  her  mind,  until  a  ter- 
rible idea  displaced  it,  and  she  turned  at  right  angles  sud- 
denly, and  ran  towards  the  slope  leading  down  to  the  sub- 
merged flat.  She  had  barely  left  the  shelter  of  the  trees 
behind  her  before  the  roar  of  water  seemed  to  rise  at  her 
very  feet.  She  stopped,  dazed,  bewildered,  and  horror- 
stricken,  on  the  edge  of  the  slope.  It  was  the  slope  no 
longer,  but  the  bank  of  the  river  itself! 

Even  in  the  gray  light  of  early  morning,  and  with  inex- 
perienced eyes,  she  saw  all  too  clearly  now.  The  trestle- 
work  had  given  way ;  the  curving  mile  of  flume,  fallen  into 
the  stream,  and  crushed  and  dammed  against  the  opposite 
shore,  had  absolutely  turned  the  whole  river  through  the 
half-finished  ditch  and  partly  excavated  mine  in  its  way,  a 
few  rods  further  on  to  join  the  old  familiar  channel.  The 
bank  of  the  river  was  changed;  the  flat  had  become  an 
island,  between  which  and  the  slope  where  she  stood  the 


414  DEVIL'S  FORD 

North  Fork  was  rolling  its  resistless  yellow  torrent.  As 
she  gazed  spellbound,  a  portion  of  the  slope  beneath  her 
suddenly  seemed  to  sink  and  crumble,  and  was  swallowed 
up  in  the  rushing  stream.  She  heard  a  cry  of  warning 
behind  her,  but,  rooted  to  the  spot  by  a  fearful  fascination, 
she  heeded  it  not.  Again  there  was  a  sudden  disruption, 
and  another  part  of  the  slope  sank  to  rise  no  more ;  but  this 
time  she  felt  herself  seized  by  the  waist  and  dragged  back. 
It  was  her  father  standing  by  her  side. 

He  was  flushed  and  excited,  gazing  at  the  water  with 
a  strange  exultation. 

"  Do  you  see  it  1  Do  you  know  what  has  happened  1 " 
he  asked  quickly. 

"  The  flume  has  fallen  and  turned  the  river, "  said  Chris- 
tie hurriedly.  "  But  —  have  you  seen  him  —  is  he  safe  ?  " 

"  He  —  who  ?  "  he  answered  vacantly. 

"  George  Kearney !  " 

"He  is  safe,"  he  said  impatiently.  "But,  do  you  see, 
Christie  ?  Do  you  know  what  this  means  ?  " 

He  pointed  with  his  tremulous  hand  to  the  stream  before 
them. 

"  It  means  we  are  ruined, "  said  Christie  coldly. 

"Nothing  of  the  kind!  It  means  that  the  river  is  doing 
the  work  of  the  flume.  It  is  sluicing  off  the  gravel,  deep- 
ening the  ditch,  and  altering  the  slope  which  was  the  old 
bend  of  the  river.  It  will  do  in  ten  minutes  the  work  that 
would  take  us  a  year.  If  we  can  stop  it  in  time,  or  control 
it,  we  are  safe;  but  if  we  cannot,  it  will  carry  away  the 
bed  and  deposit  with  the  rest,  and  we  are  ruined  again." 

With  a  gesture  of  impotent  fury,  he  dashed  away  in  the 
direction  of  an  equally  excited  crowd,  that  on  a  point  of 
the  slope  nearer  the  island  were  gesticulating  and  shouting 
to  a  second  group  of  men,  who  on  the  opposite  shore  were 
clambering  on  over  the  choked  de'bris  of  the  flume  that  had 
dammed  and  diverted  the  current.  It  was  evident  that  the 


DEVIL'S  FORD  415 

same  idea  had  occurred  to  them,  and  they  were  risking 
their  lives  in  the  attempt  to  set  free  the  impediments. 
Shocked  and  indignant  as  Christie  had  been  at  the  degrad- 
ing absorption  of  material  interests  at  such  a  moment,  the 
element  of  danger  lifted  the  labors  of  -these  men  into  hero- 
ism, and  she  began  to  feel  a  strange  exultation  as  she 
watched  them.  Under  the  skillful  blows  of  their  axes,  in 
a  few  moments  the  vast  body  of  drift  began  to  disintegrate, 
and  then  to  swing  round  and  move  towards  the  old  chan- 
nel. A  cheer  went  up,  but  as  suddenly  died  away  again. 
An  overlapping  fringe  of  wreckage  had  caught  on  the  point 
of  the  island  and  arrested  the  whole  mass. 

The  men,  who  had  gained  the  shore  with  difficulty, 
looked  back  with  a  cry  of  despair.  But  the  next  moment 
from  among  them  leaped  a  figure,  alert,  buoyant,  invincible, 
and,  axe  in  hand,  once  more  essayed  the  passage.  Spring- 
ing from  timber  to  timber  he  at  last  reached  the  point  of 
obstruction.  A  few  strokes  of  the  axe  were  sufficient  to 
clear  it;  but  at  the  first  stroke  it  was  apparent  that  the 
striker  was  also  losing  his  hold  upon  the  shore,  and  that 
he  must  inevitably  be  carried  away  with  the  tossing  debris. 
But  this  consideration  did  not  seem  to  affect  him;  the  last 
blow  was  struck,  and  as  the  freed  timbers  rolled  on,  over 
and  over,  he  boldly  plunged  into  the  flood.  Christie  gave 
a  little  cry  —  her  heart  had  bounded  with  him ;  it  seemed 
as  if  his  plunge  had  splashed  the  water  in  her  eyes.  He 
did  not  come  to  the  surface  until  he  had  passed  the  point 
below  where  her  father  stood,  and  then  struggling  feebly, 
as  if  stunned  or  disabled  by  a  blow.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
he  was  trying  to  approach  the  side  of  the  river  where  she 
was.  Would  he  do  it  1  Could  she  help  him  ?  She  was  alone ; 
he  was  hidden  from  the  view  of  the  men  on  the  point, 
and  no  succor  could  come  from  them.  There  was  a  fringe 
of  alder  nearly  opposite  their  cabin  that  almost  overhung 
the  stream.  She  ran  to  it,  clutched  it  with  a  frantic  hand, 


416  DEVIL'S  FORD 

and  leaning  over  the  boiling  water,  uttered  for  the  first 
time  his  name. 

"George!" 

As  if  called  to  the  surface  by  the  magic  of  her  voice,  he 
rose  a  few  yards  from  her  in  mid-current,  and  turned  his 
fading  eyes  towards  the  bank.  In  another  moment  he 
would  have  been  swept  beyond  her  reach,  but  with  a  su- 
preme effort  he  turned  on  one  side;  the  current,  striking 
him  sideways,  threw  him  towards  the  bank,  and  she  caught 
him  by  his  sleeve.  For  an  instant  it  seemed  as  if  she 
would  be  dragged  down  with  him.  For  one  dangerous 
moment  she  did  not  care,  and  almost  yielded  to  the  spell; 
but  as  the  rush  of  water  pressed  him  against  the  bank,  she 
recovered  herself,  and  managed  to  lift  him  beyond  its  reach. 
And  then  she  sat  down,  half  fainting,  with  his  white  face 
and  damp  curls  upon  her  breast. 

"  George,  darling,  speak  to  me !  Only  one  word !  Tell 
me,  have  I  saved  you  1 " 

His  eyes  opened.  A  faint  twinkle  of  the  old  days  came 
to  them  —  a  boyish  smile  played  upon  his  lips. 

"  For  yourself  —  or  Jessie  1 " 

She  looked  around  her  with  a  little  frightened  air. 
They  were  alone.  There  was  but  one  way  of  sealing  those 
mischievous  lips,  and  she  found  it! 

"That's  what  I  allus  said,  gentlemen,"  lazily  remarked 
Whiskey  Dick,  a  few  weeks  later,  leaning  back  against  the 
bar,  with  his  glass  in  his  hand.  "  '  George, '  sez  I,  '  it  ain't 
what  you  say  to  a  fash'nable,  high-toned  young  lady;  it 's 
what  you  does  ez  makes  or  breaks  you.'  And  that 's  what 
I  sez  gin 'rally  o'  things  in  the  Ford.  It  ain't  what  Carr 
and  you  boys  allows  to  do;  it's  the  gin'ral  average  o' 
things  ez  iz  done  that  gives  tone  to  the  hull,  and  hez 
brought  this  yer  new  luck  to  you  all ! " 


A  SECEET   OF  TELEGEAPH  HILL 


As  Mr.  Herbert  Ely  glanced  for  the  first  time  at  the 
house  which  was  to  be  his  future  abode  in  San  Francisco 
he  was  somewhat  startled.  In  that  early  period  of  feverish 
civic  improvement  the  street  before  it  had  been  repeatedly 
graded  and  lowered  until  the  dwelling  —  originally  a  pioneer 
suburban  villa  perched  upon  a  slope  of  Telegraph  Hill  — 
now  stood  sixty  feet  above  the  sidewalk,  superposed  like 
some  Swiss  chalet  on  successive  galleries  built  in  the  sand- 
hill, and  connected  by  a  half-dozen  distinct  zigzag  flights  of 
wooden  staircase.  Stimulated,  however,  by  the  thought 
that  the  view  from  the  top  would  be  a  fine  one,  and  that 
existence  there  would  have  all  the  quaint  originality  of 
Eobinson  Crusoe's  tree-dwelling,  Mr.  Ely  began  cheer- 
fully to  mount  the  steps.  It  should  be  premised  that,  al- 
though a  recently  appointed  clerk  in  a  large  banking  house, 
Mr.  Ely  was  somewhat  youthful  and  imaginative,  and 
regarded  the  ascent  as  part  of  that  "  Excelsior "  climbing 
pointed  out  by  a  great  poet  as  a  praiseworthy  function  of 
ambitious  youth. 

Eeaching  at  last  the  level  of  the  veranda,  he  turned  to 
the  view.  The  distant  wooded  shore  of  Contra  Costa,  the 
tossing  whitecaps  and  dancing  sails  of  the  bay  between,  and 
the  foreground  at  his  feet  of  wharves  and  piers,  with  their 
reedlike  jungles  of  masts  and  cordage,  made  up  a  bright,  if 
somewhat  material,  picture.  To  his  right  rose  the  crest  of 
the  hill,  historic  and  memorable  as  the  site  of  the  old  sem- 
aphoric  telegraph,  the  tossing  of  whose  gaunt  arms  formerly 


418  A   SECRET   OF   TELEGRAPH   HILL 

thrilled  the  citizens  with  tidings  from  the  sea.  Turning 
to  the  house,  he  recognized  the  prevailing  style  of  light 
cottage  architecture,  although  incongruously  confined  to 
narrow  building  plots  and  the  civic  regularity  of  a  precise 
street  frontage.  Thus  a  dozen  other  villas,  formerly  scat- 
tered over  the  slope,  had  been  laboriously  displaced  and 
moved  to  the  rigorous  parade  line  drawn  by  the  street  sur- 
veyor, no  matter  how  irregular  and  independent  their  de- 
sign and  structure.  Happily,  the  few  scrub-oaks  and  low 
bushes  which  formed  the  scant  vegetation  of  this  vast  sand- 
dune  offered  no  obstacle  and  suggested  no  incongruity. 
Beside  the  house  before  which  Mr.  Bly  now  stood,  a  prolific 
madeira  vine,  quickened  by  the  six  months'  sunshine,  had 
alone  survived  the  displacement  of  its  foundations,  and  in 
its  untrimmed  luxuriance  half  hid  the  upper  veranda  from 
his  view. 

Still  glowing  with  his  exertion,  the  young  man  rang  the 
bell  and  was  admitted  into  a  fair-sized  drawing-room, 
whose  tasteful  and  well-arranged  furniture  at  once  prepos- 
sessed him.  An  open  piano,  a  sheet  of  music  carelessly 
left  on  the  stool,  a  novel  lying  face  downwards  on  the  table 
beside  a  skein  of  silk,  and  the  distant  rustle  of  a  vanished 
skirt  through  an  inner  door,  gave  a  suggestion  of  refined 
domesticity  to  the  room  that  touched  the  fancy  of  the 
homeless  and  nomadic  Bly.  He  was  still  enjoying,  in  half 
embarrassment,  that  vague  and  indescribable  atmosphere  of 
a  refined  woman's  habitual  presence,  when  the  door  opened 
and  the  mistress  of  the  house  formally  presented  herself. 

She  was  a  faded  but  still  handsome  woman.  Yet  she 
wore  that  peculiar  long,  limp,  formless  house  shawl  which 
in  certain  phases  of  Anglo-Saxon  spinster  and  widowhood 
assumes  the  functions  of  the  recluse's  veil  and  announces 
the  renunciation  of  worldly  vanities  and  a  resigned  indiffer- 
ence to  external  feminine  contour.  The  most  audacious 
masculine  arm  would  shrink  from  clasping  that  shapeless 


A  SECRET   OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL  419 

void  in  which  the  flatness  of  asceticism  or  the  heavings  of 
passion  might  alike  lie  buried.  She  had  also  in  some  mys- 
terious way  imported  into  the  fresh  and  pleasant  room  a 
certain  bombaziny  shadow  of  the  past,  and  a  suggestion 
of  that  appalling  reminiscence  known  as  "better  days." 
Though  why  it  should  be  always  represented  by  ashen 
memories,  or  why  better  days  in  the  past  should  be  sup- 
posed to  fix  their  fitting  symbol  in  depression  in  the  pre- 
sent, Mr.  Bly  was  too  young  and  too  preoccupied  at  the 
moment  to  determine.  N  He  only  knew  that  he  was  a  little 
frightened  of  her,  and  fixed  his  gaze  with  a  hopeless  fasci- 
nation on  a  letter  which  she  somewhat  portentously  carried 
under  the  shawl,  and  which  seemed  already  to  have  yel- 
lowed in  its  arctic  shade. 

"Mr.  Carstone  has  written  to  me  that  you  would  call," 
said  Mrs.  Brooks,  with  languid  formality.  "Mr.  Carstone 
was  a  valued  friend  of  my  late  husband,  and  I  suppose  has 
told  you  the  circumstances  —  the  only  circumstances  — 
which  admit  of  my  entertaining  his  proposition  of  taking 
anybody,  even  temporarily,  under  my  roof.  The  absence 
of  my  dear  son  for  six  months  at  Portland,  Oregon,  enables 
me  to  place  his  room  at  the  disposal  of  Mr.  Carstone's 
young  protege,  who,  Mr.  Carstone  tells  me,  and  I  have 
every  reason  to  believe,  is,  if  perhaps  not  so  seriously  in- 
clined nor  yet  a  church  communicant,  still  of  a  character  and 
reputation  not  unworthy  to  follow  my  dear  Tappington  in 
our  little  family  circle  as  he  has  at  his  desk  in  the  bank." 

The  sensitive  Bly,  struggling  painfully  out  of  an  abstrac- 
tion as  to  how  he  was  ever  to  offer  the  Aveekly  rent  of  his 
lodgings  to  such  a  remote  and  respectable  person,  and  also 
somewhat  embarrassed  at  being  appealed  to  in  the  third 
person,  here  started  and  bowed. 

"The  name  of  Bly  is  not  unfamiliar  to  me,"  continued 
Mrs.  Brooks,  pointing  to  a  chair  and  sinking  resignedly 
into  another,  where  her  baleful  sha^srl  at  once  assumed  the 


420  A   SECRET   OF   TELEGRAPH   HILL 

appearance  of  a  dust-cover;  "some  of  my  dearest  friends 
were  intimate  with  the  Blys  of  Philadelphia.  They  were 
a  branch  of  the  Maryland  Blys  of  the  eastern  shore,  one  of 
whom  my  Uncle  James  married.  Perhaps  you  are  dis- 
tantly related  1 " 

Mrs.  Brooks  was  perfectly  aware  that  her  visitor  was  of 
unknown  Western  origin,  and  a  poor  hut  clever  protegd  of 
the  rich  hanker;  but  she  was  one  of  a  certain  class  of 
American  women  who,  in  the  midst  of  a  fierce  democracy, 
are  more  or  less  catlike  conservators  of  family  pride  and 
lineage,  and  more  or  less  felinely  inconsistent  and  treach- 
erous to  republican  principles.  Bly,  who  had  just  settled 
in  his  mind  to  send  her  the  rent  anonymously  —  as  a  weekly 
valentine  — recovered  himself  and  his  spirits  in  his  usual 
boyish  fashion. 

"lam  afraid,  Mrs.  Brooks, "he  said  gayly,  "I cannot  lay 
claim  to  any  distinguished  relationship,  even  to  that  '  Nelly 
Bly  '  who,  you  remember,  '  winked  her  eye  when  she  went 
to  sleep. '  "  He  stopped  in  consternation.  The  terrible 
conviction  flashed  upon  him  that  this  quotation  from  a 
popular  negro-minstrel  song  could  not  possibly  be  remem- 
bered by  a  lady  as  refined  as  his  hostess,  or  even  known  to 
her  superior  son.  The  conviction  was  intensified  by  Mrs. 
Brooks  rising  with  a  smileless  face,  slightly  shedding  the 
possible  vulgarity  with  a  shake  of  her  shawl,  and  remarking 
that  she  would  show  him  her  son's  room,  led  the  way 
upstairs  to  the  apartment  recently  vacated  by  the  perfect 
Tappington. 

Preceded  by  the  same  distant  flutter  of  unseen  skirts  in 
the  passage  which  he  had  first  noticed  on  entering  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  which  evidently  did  not  proceed  from  his 
companion,  whose  self-composed  cerements  would  have  re- 
pressed any  such  indecorous  agitation,  Mr.  Bly  stepped 
timidly  into  the  room.  It  was  a  very  pretty  apartment, 
suggesting  the  same  touches  of  tasteful  refinement  in  its 


A  SECKET  OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL  421 

furniture  and  appointments,  and  withal  so  feminine  in  its 
neatness  and  regularity,  that,  conscious  of  his  frontier 
habits  and  experience,  he  felt  at  once  repulsively  incongru- 
ous. "I  cannot  expect,  Mr.  Ely,"  said  Mrs.  Brooks  re- 
signedly, "that  you  can  share  my  son's  extreme  sensitive- 
ness to  disorder  and  irregularity;  hut  I  must  heg  you  to 
avoid  as  much  as  possible  disturbing  the  arrangement  of  the 
bookshelves,  which,  you  observe,  comprise  his  books  of 
serious  reference,  the  Biblical  commentaries,  and  the  ser- 
mons which  were  his  habitual  study.  I  must  beg  you  to 
exercise  the  same  care  in  reference  to  the  valuable  offerings 
from  his  Sabbath-school  scholars  which  are  upon  the  man- 
tel. The  embroidered  book-marker,  the  gift  of  the  young 
ladies  of  his  Bible  class  in  Dr.  Stout's  church,  is  also,  you 
perceive,  kept  for  ornament  and  affectionate  remembrance. 
The  harmonium  —  even  if  you  are  not  yourself  given  to 
sacred  song  —  I  trust  you  will  not  find  in  your  way,  nor 
object  to  my  daughter  continuing  her  practice  during  your 
daily  absence.  Thank  you.  The  door  you  are  looking  at 
leads  by  a  flight  of  steps  to  the  side  street." 

"A  very  convenient  arrangement,"  said  Bly  hopefully, 
who  saw  a  chance  for  an  occasional  unostentatious  escape 
from  a  too  protracted  contemplation  of  Tappington's  per- 
fections. "I  mean,"  he  added  hurriedly,  "to  avoid  dis- 
turbing you  at  night." 

"I  believe  my  son  had  neither  the  necessity  nor  desire  to 
use  it  for  that  purpose,"  returned  Mrs.  Brooks  severely; 
"although  he  found  it  sometimes  a  convenient  short  cut  to 
church  on  Sabbath  when  he  was  late." 

Bly,  who  in  his  boyish  sensitiveness  to  external  impres- 
sions had  by  this  time  concluded  that  a  life  divided  be- 
tween the  past  perfections  of  Tappington  and  the  present 
renunciations  of  Mrs.  Brooks  would  be  intolerable,  and  was 
again  abstractedly  inventing  some  delicate  excuse  for  with- 
drawing without  committing  himself  further,  was  here  sud- 


422  A   SECRET   OF   TELEGRAPH   HILL 

denly  attracted  by  a  repetition  of  the  rustling  of  the  unseen 
skirt.  This  time  it  was  nearer,  and  this  time  it  seemed  to 
strike  even  Mrs.  Brooks's  remote  preoccupation.  "My 
daughter,  who  is  deeply  devoted  to  her  brother,"  she  said, 
slightly  raising  her  voice,  "will  take  upon  herself  the  care 
of  looking  after  Tappington's  precious  mementos,  and  spare 
you  the  trouble.  Cherry,  dear!  this  way.  This  is  the 
young  gentleman  spoken  of  by  Mr.  Carstone,  your  papa's 
friend.  My  daughter  Cherubina,  Mr.  Ely." 

The  fair  owner  of  the  rustling  skirt,  which  turned  out  to 
be  a  pretty  French  print,  had  appeared  at  the  doorway. 
She  was  a  tall,  slim  blonde,  with  a  shy,  startled  manner, 
as  of  a  penitent  nun  Avho  was  suffering  for  some  conventual 
transgression  —  a  resemblance  that  was  heightened  by  her 
short-cut  hair,  that  might  have  been  cropped  as  if  for  pun- 
ishment. A  certain  likeness  to  her  mother  suggested  that 
she  was  qualifying  for  that  saint's  ascetic  shawl  —  sub- 
ject, however,  to  rebellious  intervals,  indicated  in  the  oc- 
casional sidelong  fires  of  her  gray  eyes.  Yet  the  vague 
impression  that  she  knew  more  of  the  world  than  her 
mother,  and  that  she  did  not  look  at  all  as  if  her  name 
was  Cherubina,  struck  Ely  in  the  same  momentary  glance. 

"  Mr.  Ely  is  naturally  pleased  with  what  he  has  seen  of 
our  dear  Tappington's  appointments;  and  as  I  gather  from 
Mr.  Carstone's  letter  that  he  is  anxious  to  enter  at  once 
and  make  the  most  of  the  dear  boy's  absence,  you  will  see, 
my  dear  Cherry,  that  Ellen  has  everything  ready  for  him  1  " 

Before  the  unfortunate  Bly  could  explain  or  protest  the 
young  girl  lifted  her  gray  eyes  to  his.  Whether  she  had 
perceived  and  understood  his  perplexity  he  could  not  tell; 
but  the  swift  shy  glance  was  at  once  appealing,  assuring, 
and  intelligent.  She  was  certainly  unlike  her  mother  and 
brother.  Acting  with  his  usual  impulsiveness,  he  forgot 
his  previous  resolution,  and  before  he  left  had  engaged  to 
begin  his  occupation  of  the  room  on  the  following  day. 


A   SECRET  OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL  423 

The  next  afternoon  found  him  installed.  Yet,  after  he 
had  unpacked  his  modest  possessions  and  put  them  away, 
after  he  had  placed  his  few  books  on  the  shelves,  where 
they  looked  glaringly  trivial  and  frivolous  beside  the  late 
tenant's  severe  studies;  after  he  had  set  out  his  scanty 
treasures  in  the  way  of  photographs  and  some  curious  me- 
mentos of  his  wandering  life,  and  then  quickly  put  them 
back  again  with  a  sudden  angry  pride  at  exposing  them  to 
the  unsympathetic  incongruity  of  the  other  ornaments,  he, 
nevertheless,  felt  ill  at  ease.  He  glanced  in  vain  around 
the  pretty  room.  It  was  not  the  delicately  flowered  wall- 
paper; it  was  not  the  white  and  blue  muslin  window-cur- 
tains gracefully  tied  up  with  blue  and  white  ribbons ;  it  was 
not  the  spotless  bed,  with  its  blue  and  white  festooned 
mosquito-net  and  flounced  valances,  and  its  medallion  por- 
trait of  an  unknown  bishop  at  the  back ;  it  was  not  the  few 
tastefully  framed  engravings  of  certain  cardinal  virtues, 
"The  Eock  of  Ages,"  and  "The  Guardian  Angel;"  it  was 
not  the  casts  in  relief  of  "Night"  and  "Morning;"  it 
was  certainly  not  the  cosy  dimity-covered  armchairs  and 
sofa,  nor  yet  the  clean-swept  polished  grate  with  its  cheer- 
ful fire  sparkling  against  the  chill  afternoon  sea-fogs  with- 
out; neither  was  it  the  mere  feminine  suggestion,  for  that 
touched  a  sympathetic  chord  in  his  impulsive  nature;  nor 
the  religious  and  ascetic  influence,  for  he  had  occupied  a 
monastic  cell  in  a  school  of  the  padres  at  an  old  mission, 
and  slept  profoundly ;  —  it  was  none  of  those,  and  yet  a 
part  of  all.  Most  habitations  retain  a  cast  or  shell  of  their 
previous  tenant  that,  fitting  tightly  or  loosely,  is  still  able 
to  adjust  itself  to  the  newcomer;  in  most  occupied  apart- 
ments there  is  still  a  shadowy  suggestion  of  the  owner's  in- 
dividuality; there  was  nothing  here  that  fitted  Ely  —  nor 
was  there  either,  strange  to  say,  any  evidence  of  the  past 
proprietor  in  this  inhospitality  of  sensation.  It  did  not 
strike  him  at  the  time  that  it  was  this  very  lack  of  indi- 


424  A  SECRET   OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL 

viduality  which  made  it  weird  and  unreal,  that  it  was 
strange  only  because  it  was  artificial,  and  that  a  real  Tap- 
pington  had  never  inhabited  it. 

He  walked  to  the  window  —  that  never-failing  resource 
of  the  unquiet  mind  —  and  looked  out.  He  was  a  little 
surprised  to  find,  that,  owing  to  the  grading  of  the  house, 
the  scrub-oaks  and  bushes  of  the  hill  were  nearly  on  the 
level  of  his  window,  as  also  was  the  adjoining  side  street 
on  which  his  second  door  actually  gave.  Opening  this, 
the  sudden  invasion  of  the  sea-fog  and  the  figure  of  a  pe- 
destrian casually  passing  along  the  disused  and  abandoned 
pavement  not  a  dozen  feet  from  where  he  had  been  com- 
fortably seated,  presented  such  a  striking  contrast  to  the 
studious  quiet  and  cosiness  of  his  secluded  apartment  that 
he  hurriedly  closed  the  door  again  with  a  sense  of  indis- 
creet exposure.  Eeturning  to  the  window,  he  glanced  to 
the  left,  and  found  that  he  was  overlooked  by  the  side 
veranda  of  another  villa  in  the  rear,  evidently  on  its  Avay 
to  take  position  on  the  line  of  the  street.  Although  in 
actual  and  deliberate  transit  on  rollers  across  the  back  yard 
and  still  occulting  a  part  of  the  view,  it  remained,  after 
the  reckless  fashion  of  the  period,  inhabited.  Certainly, 
with  a  door  fronting  a  thoroughfare,  and  a  neighbor  grad- 
ually approaching  him,  he  would  not  feel  lonely  or  lack 
excitement. 

He  drew  his  armchair  to  the  fire  and  tried  to  realize 
the  all-pervading  yet  evasive  Tappington.  There  was  no 
portrait  of  him  in  the  house,  and  although  Mrs.  Brooks 
had  said  that  he  "  favored "  his  sister,  Ely  had,  without 
knowing  why,  instinctively  resented  it.  He  had  even 
timidly  asked  his  employer,  and  had  received  the  vague 
reply  that  he  was  "good  looking  enough,"  and  the  practi- 
cal but  discomposing  retort,  "What  do  you  want  to  know 
for  1 "  As  he  really  did  not  know  why,  the  inquiry  had 
dropped.  He  stared  at  the  monumental  crystal  inkstand 


A  SECRET  OF  TELEGRAPH  HILL  425 

half  full  of  ink,  yet  spotless  and  free  from  stains,  that 
stood  on  the  table,  and  tried  to  picture  Tappington  daintily 
dipping  into  it  to  thank  the  fair  donors  —  "daughters  of 
Eebecca. "  Who  were  they  ?  and  what  sort  of  man  would 
they  naturally  feel  grateful  to  ? 

What  was  that  1 

He  turned  to  the  window,  which  had  just  resounded  to 
a  slight  tap  or  blow,  as  if  something  soft  had  struck  it. 
With  an  instinctive  suspicion  of  the  propinquity  of  the  ad- 
joining street  he  rose,  but  a  single  glance  from  the  window 
satisfied  him  that  no  missile  would  have  reached  it  from 
thence.  He  scanned  the  low  bushes  on  the  level  before 
him;  certainly  no  one  could  be  hiding  there.  He  lifted 
his  eyes  toward  the  house  on  the  left;  the  curtains  of  the 
nearest  window  appeared  to  be  drawn  suddenly  at  the  same 
moment.  Could  it  have  come  from  there  ?  Looking  down 
upon  the  window-ledge,  there  lay  the  mysterious  missile  — 
a  little  misshapen  ball.  He  opened  the  window  and  took 
it  up.  It  was  a  small  handkerchief  tied  into  a  soft  knot, 
and  dampened  with  water  to  give  it  the  necessary  weight 
as  a  projectile. 

Was  it  apparently  the  trick  of  a  mischievous  child  ?  or  — 

But  here  a  faint  knock  on  the  door  leading  into  the  hall 
checked  his  inquiry.  He  opened  it  sharply  in  his  excite- 
ment, and  was  embarrassed  to  find  the  daughter  of  his 
hostess  standing  there,  shy,  startled,  and  evidently  equally 
embarrassed  by  his  abrupt  response. 

"  Mother  only  wanted  me  to  ask  you  if  Ellen  had  put 
everything  to  rights,"  she  said,  making  a  step  backwards. 

"Oh,  thank  you.  Perfectly,"  said  Herbert,  with  effu- 
sion. "  Nothing  could  be  better  done.  In  fact "  — 

"You  're  quite  sure  she  hasn't  forgotten  anything?  or 
that  there  isn't  anything  you  would  like  changed?"  she 
continued,  with  her  eyes  leveled  on  the  floor. 

"Nothing,  I  assure  you,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  down- 


426  A   SECRET   OF   TELEGRAPH   HILL 

cast  lashes.  As  she  still  remained  motionless,  he  continued 
cheerfully,  "  Would  you  —  would  you  —  care  to  look  round 
and  see?" 

"No;  I  thank  you." 

There  was  an  awkward  pause.  He  still  continued  to 
hold  the  door  open.  Suddenly  she  moved  forward  with  a 
schoolgirl  stride,  entered  the  room,  and  going  to  the  har- 
monium, sat  down  upon  the  music-stool  beside  it,  slightly 
bending  forward,  with  one  long,  slim,  white  hand  on  top 
of  the  other,  resting  over  her  crossed  knees. 

Herbert  was  a  little  puzzled.  It  was  the  awkward  and 
brusque  act  of  a  very  young  person,  and  yet  nothing  now 
could  be  more  gentle  and  self-composed  than  her  figure 
and  attitude. 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  smilingly;  "I  am  only  afraid 
that  I  may  not  be  able  to  live  quite  up  to  the  neatness  and 
regularity  of  the  example  I  find  here  everywhere.  You 
know  I  am  dreadfully  careless  and  not  at  all  orderly.  I 
shudder  to  think  what  may  happen;  but  you  and  your 
mother,  Miss  Brooks,  I  trust,  will  make  up  your  minds  to 
overlook  and  forgive  a  good  deal.  I  shall  do  my  best  to 
be  worthy  of  Mr.  Tap  —  of  my  predecessor  —  but  even  then 
I  am  afraid  you  '11  find  me  a  great  bother." 

She  raised  her  shy  eyelids.  The  faintest  ghost  of  a  long- 
buried  dimple  came  into  her  pale  cheek  as  she  said  softly, 
to  his  utter  consternation :  — 

"Eats!" 

Had  she  uttered  an  oath  he  could  not  have  been  more 
startled  than  he  was  by  this  choice  gem  of  Western  saloon- 
slang  from  the  pure  lips  of  this  Evangeline  -  like  figure 
before  him.  He  sat  gazing  at  her  with  a  wild  hysteric 
desire  to  laugh.  She  lifted  her  eyes  again,  swept  him 
with  a  slightly  terrified  glance,  and  said :  — 

"Tap  says  you  all  say  that  when  any  one  makes-believe 
politeness  to  you." 


A  SECRET   OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL  427 

"  Oh,  your  brother  says  that,  does  he  ? "  said  Herbert, 
laughing. 

"Yes,  and  sometimes  '  Old  rats.'  But,"  she  continued 
hurriedly,  "he  doesn't  say  it;  he  says  you  all  do.  My 
brother  is  very  particular,  and  very  good.  Dr.  Stout  loves 
him.  He  is  thought  very  much  of  in  all  Christian  circles. 
That  bookmark  was  given  to  him  by  one  of  his  classes." 

Every  trace  of  her  dimples  had  vanished.  She  looked 
so  sweetly  grave,  and  withal  so  maidenly,  sitting  there 
slightly  smoothing  the  lengths  of  her  pink  fingers,  that 
Herbert  was  somewhat  embarrassed. 

"But  I  assure  you,  Miss  Brooks,  I  was  not  making- 
believe.  I  am  really  very  careless,  and  everything  is  so 
proper  —  I  mean  so  neat  and  pretty  —  here,  that  I "  — 
he  stopped,  and  observing  the  same  backward  wandering 
of  her  eye  as  of  a  filly  about  to  shy,  quickly  changed  the 
subject.  "You  have,  or  are  about  to  have,  neighbors?" 
he  said,  glancing  towards  the  windows  as  he  recalled  the 
incident  of  a  moment  before. 

"Yes;  and  they're  not  at  all  nice  people.  They  are 
from  Pike  County,  and  very  queer.  They  came  across  the 
plains  in  '50.  They  say  '  Stranger; '  the  men  are  vulgar, 
and  the  girls  very  forward.  Tap  forbids  my  ever  going  to 
the  window  and  looking  at  them.  They  're  quite  what 
you  would  call  '  off  color. '  " 

Herbert,  who  did  not  dare  to  say  that  he  never  would 
have  dreamed  of  using  such  an  expression  in  any  young 
girl's  presence,  was  plunged  in  silent  consternation. 

"  Then  your  brother  does  n't  approve  of  them  1 "  he  said, 
at  last,  awkwardly. 

"Oh,  not  at  all.  He  even  talked  of  having  ground 
glass  put  in  all  these  windows,  only  it  would  make  the 
light  bad." 

Herbert  felt  very  embarrassed.  If  the  mysterious  missile 
came  from  these  objectionable  young  persons,  it  was  evi- 


428  A   SECRET   OF   TELEGRAPH   HILL 

dently  because  they  thought  they  had  detected  a  more  ac- 
cessible and  sympathizing  individual  in  the  stranger  who 
now  occupied  the  room.  He  concluded  he  had  better  not 
say  anything  about  it. 

Miss  Brooks 's  golden  eyelashes  were  bent  towards  the 
floor.  "  Do  you  play  sacred  music,  Mr.  Ely  ? "  she  said, 
without  raising  them. 

"I  am  afraid  not." 

"Perhaps  you  know  only  negro-minstrel  songs?" 

"I  am  afraid  —  yes." 

"I  know  one."  The  dimples  faintly  came  back  again. 
"It 's  called  <  The  Ham-fat  Man. '  Some  day  when  mother 
isn't  in  I  '11  play  it  for  you." 

Then  the  dimples  fled  again,  and  she  immediately  looked 
so  distressed  that  Herbert  came  to  her  assistance. 

"  I  suppose  your  brother  taught  you  that  too  ? " 

"  Oh,  dear,  no ! "  she  returned,  with  her  frightened 
glance;  "I  only  heard  him  say  some  people  preferred  that 
kind  of  thing  to  sacred  music,  and  one  day  I  saw  a  copy 
of  it  in  a  music-store  window  in  Clay  Street,  and  bought 
it.  Oh  no!  Tappington  didn't  teach  it  to  me." 

In  the  pleasant  discovery  that  she  was  at  times  indepen- 
dent of  her  brother's  perfections,  Herbert  smiled,  and  sym- 
pathetically drew  a  step  nearer  to  her.  She  rose  at  once, 
somewhat  primly  holding  back  the  sides  of  her  skirt, 
schoolgirl  fashion,  with  thumb  and  finger,  and  her  eyes  cast 
down. 

"Good-afternoon,  Mr.  Ely." 

"  Must  you  go  1     Good-afternoon. " 

She  walked  directly  to  the  open  door,  looking  very  tall 
and  stately  as  she  did  so,  but  without  turning  towards  him. 
When  she  reached  it  she  lifted  her  eyes;  there  was  the 
slightest  suggestion  of  a  return  of  her  dimples  in  the  re- 
laxation of  her  grave  little  mouth.  Then  she  said,  "  Good- 
by,  Mr.  Ely,"  and  departed. 


A   SECRET  OF   TELEGEAPH   HILL  429 

The  skirt  of  her  dress  rustled  for  an  instant  in  the  pas- 
sage. Herbert  looked  after  her.  "  I  wonder  if  she  skipped 
then  —  she  looks  like  a  girl  that  might  skip  at  such  a  time," 
he  said  to  himself.  "  How  very  odd  she  is  —  and  how 
simple !  But  I  must  pull  her  up  in  that  slang  when  I  know 
her  better.  Fancy  her  brother  telling  her  that !  What  a 
pair  they  must  be !  "  Nevertheless,  when  he  turned  back 
into  the  room  again  he  forbore  going  to  the  window  to  in- 
dulge further  curiosity  in  regard  to  his  wicked  neighbors.  A 
certain  new  feeling  of  respect  to  his  late  companion  —  and 
possibly  to  himself  —  held  him  in  check.  Much  as  he 
resented  Tappington's  perfections,  he  resented  quite  as 
warmly  the  presumption  that  he  was  not  quite  as  perfect, 
which  was  implied  in  that  mysterious  overture.  He 
glanced  at  the  stool  on  which  she  had  been  sitting  with  a 
half -brotherly  smile,  and  put  it  reverently  on  one  side  with 
a  very  vivid  recollection  of  her  shy  maidenly  figure.  In 
some  mysterious  way  too  the  room  seemed  to  have  lost  its 
formal  strangeness;  perhaps  it  was  the  touch  of  individual- 
ity —  hers  —  that  had  been  wanting  ?  He  began  thought- 
fully to  dress  himself  for  his  regular  dinner  at  the  Poodle 
Dog  Restaurant,  and  when  he  left  the  room  he  turned 
back  to  look  once  more  at  the  stool  where  she  had  sat. 
Even  on  his  way  to  that  fast  and  famous  cafe  of  the  period, 
he  felt,  for  the  first  time  in  his  thoughtless  but  lonely  life, 
the  gentle  security  of  the  home  he  had  left  behind  him. 

II 

It  was  three  or  four  days  before  he  became  firmly  ad- 
justed to  his  new  quarters.  During  this  time  he  had  met 
Cherry  casually  on  the  staircase,  in  going  or  coming,  and 
received  her  shy  greetings;  but  she  had  not  repeated  her 
visit,  nor  again  alluded  to  it.  He  had  spent  part  of  a  for- 
mal evening  in  the  parlor  in  company  with  a  calling  deacon, 
who,  unappalled  by  the  Indian  shawl  for  which  the  widow 


430  A  SECRET   OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL 

had  exchanged  her  household  cerements  on  such  occasions, 
appeared  to  Herbert  to  have  remote  matrimonial  designs,  as 
far  at  least  as  a  sympathetic  deprecation  of  the  vanities  of 
the  present,  an  echoing  of  her  sighs  like  a  modest  encore,  a 
preternatural  gentility  of  manner,  a  vague  allusion  to  the 
necessity  of  bearing  "one  another's  burdens,"  and  an 
everlasting  "  promise  "  in  store,  would  seem  to  imply.  To 
Herbert's  vivid  imagination,  a  discussion  on  the  doctrinal 
points  of  last  Sabbath's  sermon  was  fraught  with  delicate 
suggestion ;  and  an  acceptance  by  the  widow  of  an  appoint- 
ment to  attend  the  Wednesday  evening  "  Lectures  "  had  all 
the  shy  reluctant  yielding  of  a  granted  rendezvous.  Oddly 
enough,  the  more  formal  attitude  seemed  to  be  reserved 
for  the  young  people,  who,  in  the  suggestive  atmosphere  of 
this  spiritual  flirtation,  alone  appeared  to  preserve  the  pro- 
prieties, and,  to  some  extent,  decorously  chaperon  their 
elders.  Herbert  gravely  turned  the  leaves  of  Cherry's 
music  while  she  played  and  sang  one  or  two  discreet  but 
depressing  songs  expressive  of  her  unalterable  but  proper 
devotion  to  her  mother's  clock,  her  father's  armchair, 
and  her  aunt's  Bible;  and  Herbert  joined  somewhat  boy- 
ishly in  the  soul-subduing  refrain.  Only  once  he  ventured 
to  suggest  in  a  whisper  that  he  would  like  to  add  her  music- 
stool  to  the  adorable  inventory;  but  he  was  met  by  such  a 
disturbed  and  terrified  look  that  he  desisted.  "Another 
night  of  this  wild  and  reckless  dissipation  will  finish  me," 
he  said  lugubriously  to  himself  when  he  reached  the  soli- 
tude of  his  room.  "I  wonder  how  many  times  a  week  I  'd 
have  to  help  the  girl  play  the  spiritual  gooseberry  down- 
stairs before  we  could  have  any  fun  ourselves  1 " 

Here  the  sound  of  distant  laughter,  interspersed  with 
vivacious  feminine  shrieks,  came  through  the  open  window. 
He  glanced  between  the  curtains.  His  neighbor's  house 
was  brilliantly  lit,  and  the  shadows  of  a  few  romping  fig- 
ures were  chasing  each  other  across  the  muslin  shades  of 


A  SECRET   OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL  431 

the  windows.  The  objectionable  young  women  were  evi- 
dently enjoying  themselves.  In  some  conditions  of  the 
mind  there  is  a  certain  exasperation  in  the  spectacle  of  un- 
meaning enjoyment,  and  he  shut  the  window  sharply.  At 
the  same  moment  some  one  knocked  at  his  door. 

It  was  Miss  Brooks,  who  had  just  come  upstairs. 

"  Will  you  please  let  me  have  my  music-stool  ? " 

He  stared  at  her  a  moment  in  surprise,  then  recovering 
himself,  said,  "Yes,  certainly, "  and  brought  the  stool.  For 
an  instant  he  was  tempted  to  ask  why  she  wanted  it,  but 
his  pride  forbade  him. 

"  Thank  you.     Good-night. " 

"Good-night!" 

"I  hope  it  was  n't  in  your  way  ? " 

"Not  at  all." 

"Good-night!" 

"Good-night." 

She  vanished.  Herbert  was  perplexed.  Between  young 
ladies  whose  na'ive  exuberance  impelled  them  to  throw  hand- 
kerchiefs at  this- window  and  young  ladies  whose  equally 
na'ive  modesty  demanded  the  withdrawal  from  his  bed- 
room of  a  chair  on  which  they  had  once  sat,  his  lot  seemed 
to  have  fallen  in  a  troubled  locality.  Yet  a  day  or  two 
later  he  heard  Cherry  practicing  on  the  harmonium  as  he 
was  ascending  the  stairs  on  his  return  from  business;  she 
had  departed  before  he  entered  the  room,  but  had  left  the 
music-stool  behind  her.  It  was  not  again  removed. 

One  Sunday,  the  second  or  third  of  his  tenancy,  when 
Cherry  and  her  mother  were  at  church,  and  he  had  finished 
some  work  that  he  had  brought  from  the  bank,  his  former 
restlessness  and  sense  of  strangeness  returned.  The  regu- 
lar afternoon  fog  had  thickened  early,  and  driving  him  back 
from  a  cheerless,  chilly  ramble  on  the  hill,  had  left  him 
still  more  depressed  and  solitary.  In  sheer  desperation  he 
moved  some  of  the  furniture,  and  changed  the  disposition 


432  A  SECRET   OF   TELEGRAPH   HILL 

of  several  smaller  ornaments.  Growing  bolder,  he  even 
attacked  the  sacred  shelf  devoted  to  Tappington's  serious 
literature  and  moral  studies.  At  first  glance  the  book  of 
sermons  looked  suspiciously  fresh  and  new  for  a  volume  of 
habitual  reference,  but  its  leaves  were  carefully  cut,  and 
contained  one  or  two  bookmarks.  It  was  only  another 
evidence  of  that  perfect  youth's  care  and  neatness.  As  he 
was  replacing  it  he  noticed  a  small  object  folded  in  white 
paper  at  the  back  of  the  shelf.  To  put  the  book  back  into 
its  former  position  it  was  necessary  to  take  this  out.  He 
did  so,  but  its  contents  slid  from  his  fingers  and  the  paper 
to  the  floor.  To  his  utter  consternation,  looking  down  he 
saw  a  pack  of  playing-cards  strewn  at  his  feet  I 

He  hurriedly  picked  them  up.  They  were  worn  and 
slippery  from  use,  and  exhaled  a  faint  odor  of  tobacco. 
Had  they  been  left  there  by  some  temporary  visitor  un- 
known to  Tappington  and  his  family,  or  had  they  been 
hastily  hidden  by  a  servant  ?  Yet  they  were  of  a  make 
and  texture  superior  to  those  that  a  servant  would  possess; 
looking  at  them  carefully,  he  recognized  them  to  be  of  a 
quality  used  by  the  better-class  gamblers.  Eestoring  them 
carefully  to  their  former  position,  he  was  tempted  to  take 
out  the  other  volumes,  and  was  rewarded  with  the  further 
discovery  of  a  small  box  of  ivory  counters,  known  as 
"poker-chips."  It  was  really  very  extraordinary !  It  was 
quite  the  cache  of  some  habitual  gambler.  Herbert  smiled 
grimly  at  the  irreverent  incongruity  of  the  hiding-place 
selected  by  its  unknown  and  mysterious  owner,  and  amused 
himself  by  fancying  the  horror  of  his  sainted  predecessor  had 
Tie  made  the  discovery.  He  determined  to  replace  them, 
and  to  put  some  mark  upon  the  volumes  before  them  in  order 
to  detect  any  future  disturbance  of  them  in  his  absence. 

Ought  he  not  to  take  Miss  Brooks  in  his  confidence? 
Or  should  he  say  nothing  about  it  at  present,  and  trust  to 
chance  to  discover  the  sacrilegious  hider  ?  Could  it  pos- 


A  SECRET  OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL  433 

sibly  be  Cherry  herself,  guilty  of  the  same  innocent  curios- 
ity that  had  impelled  her  to  buy  the  "Ham-fat  Man"? 
Preposterous!  Besides,  the  cards  had  been  used,  and  she 
could  not  play  poker  alone ! 

He  watched  the  rolling  fog  extinguish  the  line  of  Bus- 
sian  Hill,  the  last  bit  of  far  perspective  from  his  window. 
He  glanced  at  his  neighbor's  veranda,  already  dripping 
with  moisture;  the  windows  were  blank;  he  remembered 
to  have  heard  the  girls  giggling  in  passing  down  the  side 
street  on  their  way  to  church,  and  had  noticed  from  be- 
hind his  own  curtains  that  one  was  rather  pretty.  This 
led  him  to  think  of  Cherry  again,  and  to  recall  the  quaint 
yet  melancholy  grace  of  her  figure  as  she  sat  on  the  stool 
opposite.  Why  had  she  withdrawn  it  so  abruptly ;  did 
she  consider  his  jesting  allusion  to  it  indecorous  and  pre- 
suming? Had  he  really  meant  it  seriously;  and  was  he 
beginning  to  think  too  much  about  her?  Would  she  ever 
come  again  ?  How  nice  it  would  be  if  she  returned  from 
church  alone  early,  and  they  could  have  a  comfortable  chat 
together  here !  Would  she  sing  the  "Ham-fat  Man"  for 
him  ?  Would  the  dimples  come  back  if  she  did  ?  Should 
he  ever  know  more  of  this  quaint  repressed  side  of  her  na- 
ture ?  After  all,  what  a  dear,  graceful,  tantalizing,  lovable 
creature  she  was !  Ought  he  not  at  all  hazards  try  to  know 
her  better?  Might  it  not  be  here  that  he  would  find  a 
perfect  realization  of  his  boyish  dreams,  and  in  her  all  that 
—  what  nonsense  he  was  thinking! 

Suddenly  Herbert  was  startled  by  the  sound  of  a  light 
but  hurried  foot  upon  the  wooden  outer  step  of  his  second 
door,  and  the  quick  but  ineffective  turning  of  the  door- 
handle. He  started  to  his  feet,  his  mind  still  filled  with  a 
vision  of  Cherry.  Then  he  as  suddenly  remembered  that 
he  had.  locked  the  door  on  going  out,  putting  the  key  in 
his  overcoat  pocket.  He  had  returned  by  the  front  door, 
and  his  overcoat  was  now  hanging  in  the  lower  hall. 


434  A  SECEET  OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL 

The  door  again  rattled  impetuously.  Then  it  was  sup- 
plemented by  a  female  voice  in  a  hurried  whisper:  "Open 
quick,  can't  you?  do  hurry!" 

He  was  confounded.  The  voice  was  authoritative,  not 
unmusical;  but  it  was  not  Cherry's.  Nevertheless  he 
called  out  quickly,  "  One  moment,  please,  and  I  '11  get  the 
key ! "  dashed  downstairs  and  up  again,  breathlessly  un- 
locked the  door  and  threw  it  open. 

Nobody  was  there! 

He  ran  out  into  the  street.  On  one  side  it  terminated 
abruptly  on  the  cliff  on  which  his  dwelling  was  perched; 
on  the  other,  it  descended  more  gradually  into  the  next 
thoroughfare;  but  up  and  down  the  street,  on  either  hand, 
no  one  was  to  be  seen.  A  slightly  superstitious  feeling  for 
an  instant  crept  over  him.  Then  he  reflected  that  the 
mysterious  visitor  could  in  the  interval  of  his  getting  the 
key  have  easily  slipped  down  the  steps  of  the  cliff  or  en- 
tered the  shrubbery  of  one  of  the  adjacent  houses.  But 
why  had  she  not  waited?  And  what  did  she  want?  As 
he  reentered  his  door  he  mechanically  raised  his  eyes  to  the 
windows  of  his  neighbor's.  This  time  he  certainly  was 
not  mistaken.  The  two  amused,  mischievous  faces  that 
suddenly  disappeared  behind  the  curtain  as  he  looked  up 
showed  that  the  incident  had  not  been  unwitnessed.  Yet 
it  was  impossible  that  it  could  have  been  either  of  them. 
Their  house  was  only  accessible  by  a  long  detour.  It  might 
have  been  the  trick  of  a  confederate;  but  the  tone  of  half 
familiarity  and  half  entreaty  in  the  unseen  visitor's  voice 
dispelled  the  idea  of  any  collusion.  He  entered  the  room 
and  closed  the  door  angrily.  A  grim  smile  stole  over  his 
face  as  he  glanced  around  at  the  dainty  saintlike  appoint- 
ments of  the  absent  Tappington,  and  thought  what  that  ir- 
reproachable young  man  would  have  said  to  the  indecorous 
intrusion,  even  though  it  had  been  a  mistake.  Would  those 
shameless  Pike  County  girls  have  dared  to  laugh  at  him  ? 


A  SECRET  OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL  435 

But  he  was  again  puzzled  to  know  why  he  himself 
should  have  been  selected  for  this  singular  experience. 
Why  was  he  considered  fair  game  for  these  girls  ?  And, 
for  the  matter  of  that,  now  that  he  reflected  upon  it,  why 
had  even  this  gentle,  refined,  and  melancholy  Cherry 
thought  it  necessary  to  talk  slang  to  him  on  their  first  ac- 
quaintance, and  offer  to  sing  him  the  "Ham-fat  Man"? 
It  was  true  he  had  been  a  little  gay,  but  never  dissipated. 
Of  course  he  was  not  a  saint,  like  Tappington  —  oh,  that 
was  it!  He  believed  he  understood  it  now.  He  was 
suffering  from  that  extravagant  conception  of  what  worldli- 
ness  consists  of,  so  common  to  very  good  people  with  no 
knowledge  of  the  world.  Compared  to  Tappington  he  was 
in  their  eyes,  of  course,  a  rake  and  a  roue'.  The  explana- 
tion pleased  him.  He  would  not  keep  it  to  himself.  He 
would  gain  Cherry's  confidence  and  enlist  her  sympathies. 
Her  gentle  nature  would  revolt  at  this  injustice  to  their 
lonely  lodger.  She  would  see  that  there  were  degrees  of 
goodness  besides  her  brother's.  She  would  perhaps  sit  on 
that  stool  again  and  not  sing  the  "Ham-fat  Man." 

A  day  or  two  afterwards  the  opportunity  seemed  offered 
to  him.  As  he  was  coming  home  and  ascending  the  long 
hilly  street,  his  eye  was  taken  by  a  tall  graceful  figure  just 
preceding  him.  It  was  she.  He  had  never  before  seen 
her  in  the  street  and  was  now  struck  with  her  ladylike 
bearing  and  the  grave  superiority  of  her  perfectly  simple 
attire.  In  a  thoroughfare  haunted  by  handsome  women 
and  striking  toilets,  the  refined  grace  of  her  mourning 
costume,  and  a  certain  stateliness  that  gave  her  the  look 
of  a  young  widow,  was  a  contrast  that  evidently  attracted 
others  than  himself.  It  was  with  an  odd  mingling  of 
pride  and  jealousy  that  he  watched  the  admiring  yet  re- 
spectful glances  of  the  passers-by,  some  of  whom  turned  to 
look  again,  and  one  or  two  to  retrace  their  steps  and  follow 
her  at  a  decorous  distance.  This  caused  him  to  quicken 


436  A   SECRET   OF  TELEGEAPH   HILL 

his  own  pace,  with  a  new  anxiety  and  a  remorseful  sense  of 
wasted  opportunity.  What  a  booby  he  had  been,  not  to 
have  made  more  of  his  contiguity  to  this  charming  girl  —  to 
have  been  frightened  at  the  na'ive  decorum  of  her  maid- 
enly instincts!  He  reached  her  side,  and  raised  his  hat 
with  a  trepidation  at  her  new-found  graces  —  with  a  bold- 
ness that  was  defiant  of  her  other  admirers.  She  blushed 
slightly. 

"I  thought  you  'd  overtake  me  before,"  she  said  naively, 
"/saw  you  ever  so  long  ago." 

He  stammered,  with  an  equal  simplicity,  that  he  had 
not  dared  to. 

She  looked  a  little  frightened  again,  and  then  said  hur- 
riedly :  "  I  only  thought  that  I  would  meet  you  on  Mont- 
gomery Street,  and  we  would  walk  home  together.  I  don't 
like  to  go  out  alone,  and  mother  cannot  always  go  with  me. 
Tappington  never  cared  to  take  me  out  —  I  don't  know 
why.  I  think  he  didn't  like  the  people  staring  and  stop- 
ping us.  But  they  stare  more  —  don't  you  think  ?  —  when 
one  is  alone.  So  I  thought  if  you  were  coming  straight 
home  we  might  come  together  —  unless  you  have  something 
else  to  do  1 " 

Herbert  impulsively  reiterated  his  joy  at  meeting  her, 
and  averred  that  no  other  engagement,  either  of  business  or 
pleasure,  could  or  would  stand  in  his  way.  Looking  up, 
however,  it  was  with  some  consternation  that  he  saw  they 
were  already  within  a  block  of  the  house. 

"Suppose  we  take  a  turn  around  the  hill  and  come  back 
by  the  old  street  down  the  steps  ? "  he  suggested  earnestly. 

The  next  moment  he  regretted  it.  The  frightened  look 
returned  to  her  eyes;  her  face  became  melancholy  and 
formal  again. 

"  No ! "  she  said  quickly.  "  That  would  be  taking  a 
walk  with  you  like  these  young  girls  and  their  young  men 
on  Saturdays.  That 's  what  Ellen  does  with  the  butcher's 


A  SECRET  OF  TELEGRAPH  HILL  437 

boy  on  Sundays.      Tappington  often  used  to  meet  them. 
Doing  the  '  Come,  Philanders,'  as  he  says  you  call  it." 

It  struck  Herbert  that  the  didactic  Tappington's  method 
of  inculcating  a  horror  of  slang  in  his  sister's  breast  was 
open  to  some  objection;  but  they  were  already  on  the 
steps  of  their  house,  and  he  was  too  much  mortified  at  the 
reception  of  his  last  unhappy  suggestion  to  make  the  con- 
fidential disclosure  he  had  intended,  even  if  there  had  still 
been  time. 

"There's  mother  waiting  for  me,"  she  said,  after  an 
awkward  pause,  pointing  to  the  figure  of  Mrs.  Brooks  dimly 
outlined  on  the  veranda.  "I  suppose  she  was  beginning 
to  be  worried  about  my  being  out  alone.  She  '11  be  so  glad 
I  met  you."  It  did  n't  appear  to  Herbert,  however,  that 
Mrs.  Brooks  exhibited  any  extravagant  joy  over  the  occur- 
rence, and  she  almost  instantly  retired  with  her  daughter 
into  the  sitting-room,  linking  her  arm  in  Cherry's,  and, 
as  it  were,  empanoplying  her  with  her  own  invulnerable 
shawl.  Herbert  went  to  his  room  more  dissatisfied  with 
himself  than  ever. 

Two  or  three  days  elapsed  without  his  seeing  Cherry; 
even  the  well-known  rustle  of  her  skirt  in  the  passage  was 
missing.  On  the  third  evening  he  resolved  to  bear  the 
formal  terrors  of  the  drawing-room  again,  and  stumbled 
upon  a  decorous  party  consisting  of  Mrs.  Brooks,  the  dea- 
con, and  the  pastor's  wife  —  but  not  Cherry.  It  struck 
him  on  entering  that  the  momentary  awkwardness  of  the 
company  and  the  formal  beginning  of  a  new  topic  indicated 
that  he  had  been  the  subject  of  their  previous  conversation. 
In  this  idea  he  continued,  through  that  vague  spirit  of  op- 
position which  attacks  impulsive  people  in  such  circum- 
stances, to  generally  disagree  with  them  on  all  subjects, 
and  to  exaggerate  what  he  chose  to  believe  they  thought 
objectionable  in  him.  He  did  not  remain  long;  but  learned 
in  that  brief  interval  that  Cherry  had  gone  to  visit  a  friend 


438  A   SECRET   OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL 

in  Contra  Costa,  and  would  be  absent  a  fortnight;  and  he 
was  conscious  that  the  information  was  conveyed  to  him 
with  a  peculiar  significance. 

The  result  of  which  was  only  to  intensify  his  interest  in  • 
the  absent  Cherry,  and  for  a  week  to  plunge  him  in  a  sea 
of  conflicting  doubts  and  resolutions.  At  one  time  he 
thought  seriously  of  demanding  an  explanation  from  Mrs. 
Brooks,  and  of  confiding  to  her  —  as  he  had  intended  to 
do  to  Cherry  —  his  fears  that  his  character  had  been  misin- 
terpreted, and  his  reasons  for  believing  so.  But  here  he 
was  met  by  the  difficulty  of  formulating  what  he  wished  to 
have  explained,  and  some  doubts  as  to  whether  his  confi- 
dences were  prudent.  At  another  time  he  contemplated  a 
serious  imitation  of  Tappington's  perfections,  a  renunciation 
of  the  world,  and  an  entire  change  in  his  habits.  He 
would  go  regularly  to  church  —  her  church,  and  take  up 
Tappington's  desolate  Bible  class.  But  here  the  torturing 
doubt  arose  whether  a  young  lady  who  betrayed  a  certain 
secular  curiosity,  and  who  had  evidently  depended  upon 
her  brother  for  a  knowledge  of  the  world,  would  entirely 
like  it.  At  times  he  thought  of  giving  up  the  room  and 
abandoning  forever  this  doubly  dangerous  proximity ;  but 
here  again  he  was  deterred  by  the  difficulty  of  giving  a 
satisfactory  reason  to  his  employer,  who  had  procured  it  as 
a  favor.  His  passion  —  for  such  he  began  to  fear  it  to  be 
—  led  him  once  to  the  extravagance  of  asking  a  day's  holi- 
day from  the  bank,  which  he  vaguely  spent  in  the  streets 
of  Oakland  in  the  hope  of  accidentally  meeting  the  exiled 
Cherry. 

m 

The  fortnight  slowly  passed.  She  returned,  but  he  did 
not  see  her.  She  was  always  out  or  engaged  in  her  room 
with  some  female  friend  when  Herbert  was  at  home.  This 
was  singular,  as  she  had  never  appeared  to  him  as  a  young 


A  SECKET  OF  TELEGRAPH  HILL        439 

girl  who  was  fond  of  visiting  or  had  ever  affected  female 
friendships.  In  fact,  there  was  little  doubt  now  that, 
wittingly  or  unwittingly,  she  was  avoiding  him. 

He  was  moodily  sitting  by  the  fire  one  evening,  having 
returned  early  from  dinner.  In  reply  to  his  habitual  but 
affectedly  careless  inquiry,  Ellen  had  told  him  that  Mrs. 
Brooks  was  confined  to  her  room  by  a  slight  headache, 
and  that  Miss  Brooks  was  out.  He  was  trying  to  read, 
and  listening  to  the  wind  that  occasionally  rattled  the  case- 
ment and  caxjsed  the  solitary  gas-lamp  that  was  visible  in 
the  side  street  to  flicker  and  leap  wildly.  Suddenly  he 
heard  the  same  footfall  upon  his  outer  step  and  a  light  tap 
at  the  door.  Determined  this  time  to  solve  the  mystery, 
he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  ran  to  the  door;  but  to  his  anger 
and  astonishment  it  was  locked  and  the  key  was  gone. 
Yet  he  was  positive  that  he  had  not  taken  it  out. 

The  tap  was  timidly  repeated.  In  desperation  he  called 
out,  "Please  don't  go  away  yet.  The  key  is  gone;  but 
I'll  find  it  in  a  moment."  Nevertheless  he  was  at  his 
wits'  end. 

There  was  a  hesitating  pause  and  then  the  sound  of  a 
key  cautiously  thrust  into  the  lock.  It  turned;  the  door 
opened,  and  a  tall  figure,  whose  face  and  form  were  com- 
pletely hidden  in  a  veil  and  long  gray  shawl,  quickly  glided 
into  the  room  and  closed  the  door  behind  it.  Then  it  sud- 
denly raised  its  arms,  the  shawl  was  parted,  the  veil  fell 
aside,  and  Cherry  stood  before  him! 

Her  face  was  quite  pale.  Her  eyes,  usually  downcast, 
frightened,  or  coldly  clear,  were  bright  and  beautiful  with 
excitement.  The  dimples  were  faintly  there,  although  the 
smile  was  sad  and  half  hysterical.  She  remained  standing, 
erect  and  tall,  her  arms  dropped  at  her  side,  holding  the 
veil  and  shawl  that  still  depended  from  her  shoulders. 

"So  —  I've  caught  you!"  she  said,  with  a  strange 
little  laugh.  "  Oh  yes.  '  Please  don't  go  away  yet.  I  '11 


440  A   SECEET   OF   TELEGKAPH   HILL 

get  the  key  in  a  moment, '  "  she  continued,  mimicking  his 
recent  utterance. 

He  could  only  stammer,  "Miss  Brooks  —  then  it  was 
you?" 

"Yes;  and  you  thought  it  was  she,  didn't  you?  Well, 
and  you're  caught!  I  didn't  believe  it;  I  wouldn't  be- 
lieve it  when  they  said  it.  I  determined  to  find  it  out 
myself.  And  I  have;  and  it 's  true." 

Unable  to  determine  whether  she  was  serious  or  jesting, 
and  conscious  only  of  his  delight  at  seeing^  her  again,  he 
advanced  impulsively.  But  her  expression  instantly 
changed:  she  became  at  once  stiff  and  schoolgirlishly 
formal,  and  stepped  back  towards  the  door. 

"Don't  come  near  me,  or  I  '11  go,"  she  said  quickly,  with 
her  hand  upon  the  lock. 

"But  not  before  you  tell  me  what  you  mean,"  he  said, 
half  laughingly,  half  earnestly.  "Who  is  she?  and  what 
wouldn't  you  have  believed?  For  upon  my  honor,  Miss 
Brooks,  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about." 

His  evident  frankness  and  truthful  manner  appeared  to 
puzzle  her.  "You  mean  to  say  you  were  expecting  no 
one  ?  "  she  said  sharply. 

"I  assure  you  I  was  not." 

"  And  —  and  no  woman  was  ever  here  —  at  that  door  ?  " 

He  hesitated.  "Not  to-night  —  not  for  a  long  time; 
not  since  you  returned  from  Oakland." 

"  Then  there  was  one  ?  " 

"I  believe  so." 

"  You  believe  —  you  don't  know  ?  " 

"I  believed  it  was  a  woman  from  her  voice;  for  the  door 
was  locked,  and  the  key  was  downstairs.  When  I  fetched  it 
and  opened  the  door,  she  —  or  whoever  it  was  —  was  gone." 

"And  that's  why  you  said  so  imploringly,  just  now, 
'Please  don't  go  away  yet '  ?  You  see,  I  've  caught  you. 
Ah!  I  don't  wonder  you  blush! " 


A  SECRET  OF  TELEGRAPH  HILL  441 

If  he  had,  his  cheeks  had  caught  fire  from  her  brilliant 
eyes  and  the  extravagantly  affected  sternness  —  as  of  a 
schoolgirl  monitor  —  in  her  animated  face.  Certainly  he 
had  never  seen  such  a  transformation. 

"Yes;  but,  you  see,  I  wanted  to  know  who  the  intruder 
was,"  he  said,  smiling  at  his  own  embarrassment. 

"You  did  —  well,  perhaps  that  will  tell  you?  It  was 
found  under  your  door  before  I  went  away."  She  sud- 
denly produced  from  her  pocket  a  folded  paper  and  handed 
it  to  him.  It  was  a  misspelt  scrawl,  and  ran  as  fol- 
lows: — 

"  Why  are  you  so  cruel  ?  Why  do  you  keep  me  dansing 
on  the  stepps  before  them  gurls  at  the  windows?  Was  it 
that  stuck-up  Saint,  Miss  Brooks,  that  you  were  afraid  of, 
my  deer?  Oh,  you  faithless  trater!  Wait  till  I  ketch 
you !  I  '11  tear  your  eyes  out  and  hern!  " 

It  did  not  require  great  penetration  for  Herbert  to  be 
instantly  convinced  that  the  writer  of  this  vulgar  epistle 
and  the  owner  of  the  unknown  voice  were  two  very  differ- 
ent individuals.  The  note  was  evidently  a  trick.  A  sus- 
picion of  its  perpetrators  flashed  upon  him. 

"  Whoever  the  woman  was,  it  was  not  she  who  wrote  the 
note, "  he  said  positively.  "  Somebody  must  have  seen  her 
at  the  door.  I  remember  now  that  those  girls  —  your 
neighbors  —  were  watching  me  from  their  window  when 
I  came  out.  Depend  upon  it,  that  letter  comes  from 
them." 

Cherry's  eyes  opened  widely  with  a  sudden  childlike 
perception,  and  then  shyly  dropped.  "Yes,"  she  said 
slowly,  "they  did  watch  you.  They  know  it,  for  it  was 
they  who  made  it  the  talk  of  the  neighborhood,  and  that's 
how  it  came  to  mother's  ears."  She  stopped,  and  with 
a  frightened  look,  stepped  back  towards  the  door  again. 

"Then  that  was  why  your  mother"  — 

"  Oh  yes,"  interrupted  Cherry  quickly.      " That  was  why 


442  A  SECKET   OF   TELEGRAPH   HILL 

I  went  over  to  Oakland,  and  why  mother  forbade  my  walk- 
ing with  you  again,  and  why  she  had  a  talk  with  friends 
about  your  conduct,  and  why  she  came  near  telling  Mr. 
Carstone  all  about  it  until  I  stopped  her."  She  checked 
herself  —  he  could  hardly  believe  his  eyes  —  the  pale,  nun- 
like  girl  was  absolutely  blushing. 

"I  thank  you,  Miss  Brooks,"  he  said  gravely,  "for  your 
thoughtfulness,  although  I  hope  I  could  have  still  proven 
my  innocence  to  Mr.  Carstone,  even  if  some  unknown 
woman  tried  my  door  by  mistake,  and  was  seen  doing  it. 
But  I  am  pained  to  think  that  you  could  have  believed  me 
capable  of  so  wanton  and  absurd  an  impropriety  —  and  such 
a  gross  disrespect  to  your  mother's  house." 

"But,"  said  Cherry,  with  childlike  naivete,  "you  know 
you  don't  think  anything  of  such  things,  and  that 's  what 
I  told  mother." 

"  You  told  your  mother  that  ?  " 

"Oh  yes  —  I  told  her  Tappington  says  it's  quite  com- 
mon with  young  men.  Please  don't  laugh  —  for  it 's  very 
dreadful.  Tappington  didn't  laugh  when  he  told  it  to  me 
as  a  warning.  He  was  shocked." 

"  But,  my  dear  Miss  Brooks  "  — 

"  There  —  now  you  're  angry  —  and  that 's  as  bad.  Are 
you  sure  you  didn't  know  that  woman?  " 

"Positive!" 

"  Yet  you  seemed  very  anxious  just  now  that  she  should 
wait  till  you  opened  the  door." 

"That  was  perfectly  natural." 

"I  don't  think  it  was  natural  at  all." 

"  But  —  according  to  Tappington  "  — 

"Because  my  brother  is  very  good  you  need  not  make 
fun  of  him." 

"  I  assure  you  I  have  no  such  intention.  But  what  more 
can  I  say  1  I  give  you  my  word  that  I  don't  know  who 
that  unlucky  woman  was.  No  doubt  she  may  have  been 


A  SECRET   OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL  443 

some  nearsighted  neighbor  who  had  mistaken  the  house, 
and  I  dare  say  was  as  thoroughly  astonished  at  my  voice  as 
I  was  at  hers.  Can  I  say  more  ?  Is  it  necessary  for  me 
to  swear  that  since  I  have  been  here  no  woman  has  ever 
entered  that  door  —  but "  — 

"But  who?" 

"Yourself." 

"I  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said  hurriedly,  with  her 
old  frightened  look,  gliding  to  the  outer  door.  "  It  'a 
shameful  what  I  've  done.  But  I  only  did  it  because  — 
because  I  had  faith  in  you,  and  did  n't  believe  what  they 
said  was  true."  She  had  already  turned  the  lock.  There 
were  tears  in  her  pretty  eyes. 

"Stop,"  said  Herbert  gently.  He  walked  slowly 
towards  her,  and  within  reach  of  her  frightened  figure 
stopped  with  the  timid  respect  of  a  mature  and  genuine 
passion.  "You  must  not  be  seen  going  out  of  that  door," 
he  said  gravely.  "You  must  let  me  go  first,  and  when 
I  am  gone,  lock  the  door  again  and  go  through  the  hall  to 
your  own  room.  No  one  must  know  that  I  was  in  the 
house  when  you  came  in  at  that  door.  Good-night." 

Without  offering  his  hand  he  lifted  his  eyes  to  her  face. 
The  dimples  were  all  there  —  and  something  else.  He 
bowed  and  passed  out. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  ostentatiously  returned  to  the  house 
by  the  front  door,  and  proceeded  up  the  stairs  to  his  own 
room.  As  he  cast  a  glance  around  he  saw  that  the  music- 
stool  had  been  moved  before  the  fire,  evidently  with  the 
view  of  attracting  his  attention.  Lying  upon  it,  carefully 
folded,  was  the  veil  that  she  had  worn.  There  could  be 
no  doubt  that  it  was  left  there  purposely.  With  a  smile 
at  this  strange  girl's  last  characteristic  act  of  timid  but  com- 
promising recklessness,  after  all  his  precautions,  he  raised 
it  tenderly  to  his  lips,  and  then  hastened  to  hide  it  from 
the  reach  of  vulgar  eyes.  But  had  Cherry  known  that  its 


444  A   SECRET   OF   TELEGRAPH   HILL 

temporary  resting-place  that  night  was  under  his  pillow  she 
might  have  doubted  his  superior  caution. 

When  he  returned  from  the  bank  the  next  afternoon, 
Cherry  rapped  ostentatiously  at  his  door.  "  Mother  wishes 
me  to  ask  you,"  she  began,  with  a  certain  prim  formality, 
which  nevertheless  did  not  preclude  dimples,  "  if  you  would 
give  us  the  pleasure  of  your  company  at  our  Church  Festi- 
val to-night  1  There  will  be  a  concert  and  a  collation.  You 
could  accompany  us  there  if  you  cared.  Our  friends  and 
Tappington's  would  be  so  glad  to  see  you,  and  Dr.  Stout 
would  be  delighted  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

"  Certainly !  "  said  Herbert,  delighted  and  yet  astounded. 
"Then,"  he  added  in  a  lower  voice,  "your  mother  no  longer 
believes  me  so  dreadfully  culpable  1 " 

"Oh  no,"  said  Cherry  in  a  hurried  whisper,  glancing  up 
and  down  the  passage;  "I  've  been  talking  to  her  about  it, 
and  she  is  satisfied  that  it  is  all  a  jealous  trick  and  slander 
of  these  neighbors.  Why,  I  told  her  that  they  had"  even 
said  that  I  was  that  mysterious  woman ;  that  I  came  that 
way  to  you  because  she  had  forbidden  my  seeing  you 
openly. " 

"  What !     You  dared  say  that  ?  " 

"Yes;  don't  you  see?  Suppose  they  said  they  had 
seen  me  coming  in  last  night  —  that  answers  it, "  she  said 
triumphantly. 

"Oh,  it  does?"  he  said  vacantly. 

"Perfectly.  Sc  you  see  she  's  convinced  that  she  ought 
to  put  you  on  the  same  footing  as  Tappington,  before  every- 
body; and  then  there  won't  be  any  trouble.  You  '11  come, 
won't  you?  It  won't  be  so  very  good.  And  then,  I  've 
told  mother  that  as  there  have  been  so  many  street-fights, 
and  so  much  talk  about  the  Vigilance  Committee  lately,  I 
ought  to  have  somebody  for  an  escort  when  I  am  coming 
home.  And  if  you  're  known,  you  see,  as  one  of  us,  there  '11 
be  no  harm  in  you  're  meeting  me." 


A  SECRET   OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL  445 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  extending  his  hand  gratefully. 

Her  fingers  rested  a  moment  in  his.  "Where  did  you 
put  it  ?  "  she  said  demurely. 

"It?  Oh!  it's  all  safe,"  he  said  quickly,  but  some- 
what vaguely. 

"But  I  don't  call  the  upper  drawer  of  your  bureau 
safe,"  she  returned  poutingly,  "where  everybody  can  go. 
So  you  '11  find  it  now  inside  the  harmonium,  on  the  key- 
board." 

"Oh,  thank  you." 

"It 's  quite  natural  to  have  left  it  there  accidentally  — 
isn't  it?  "  she  said  imploringly,  assisted  by  all  her  dimples. 
Alas,  she  had  forgotten  that  he  was  still  holding  her  hand. 
Consequently,  she  had  not  time  to  snatch  it  away  and  van- 
ish, with  a  stifled  little  cry,  before  it  had  been  pressed  two 
or  three  times  to  his  lips.  A  little  ashamed  of  his  own 
boldness,  Herbert  remained  for  a  few  moments  in  the  door- 
way listening,  and  looking  uneasily  down  the  dark  passage. 
Presently  a  slight  so.und  came  over  the  fanlight  of  Cherry's 
room.  Could  he  believe  his  ears  ?  The  saintlike  Cherry 
—  no  doubt  tutored,  for  example's  sake,  by  the  perfect 
Tappington  —  was  softly  whistling. 

In  this  simple  fashion  the  first  pages  of  this  little  idyl 
were  quietly  turned.  The  book  might  have  been  closed  or 
laid  aside  even  then.  But  it  so  chanced  that  Cherry  was 
an  unconscious  prophet;  and  presently  it  actually  became  a 
prudential  necessity  for  her  to  have  a  masculine  escort 
when  she  walked  out.  For  a  growing  state  of  lawlessness 
and  crime  culminated  one  day  the  deep  tocsin  of  the  Vigi- 
lance Committee,  and  at  its  stroke  fifty  thousand  peaceful 
men,  reverting  to  the  first  principles  of  social  safety,  sprang 
to  arms,  assembled  at  their  quarters,  or  patrolled  the  streets. 
In  another  hour  the  city  of  San  Francisco  was  in  the  hands 
of  a  mob  —  the  most  peaceful,  orderly,  well  organized,  and 
temperate  the  world  had  ever  known,  and  yet  in  concep- 


446  A   SECRET   OF   TELEGRAPH   HILL 

tion  as  lawless,  autocratic,  and  imperious  as  the  conditions 
it  opposed. 

IV 

Herbert,  enrolled  in  the  same  section  with  his  em- 
ployer and  one  or  two  fellow  clerks,  had  participated  in 
the  meetings  of  the  committee  with  the  light  heartedness 
and  irresponsibility  of  youth,  regretting  only  the  loss  of  his 
usual  walk  with  Cherry  and  the  hours  that  kept  him  from 
her  house.  He  was  returning  from  a  protracted  meeting 
one  night,  when  the  number  of  arrests  and  searching  for 
proscribed  and  suspected  characters  had  been  so  large  as  to 
induce  fears  of  organized  resistance  and  rescue,  and  on 
reaching  the  foot  of  the  hill  found  it  already  so  late,  that  to 
avoid  disturbing  the  family  he  resolved  to  enter  his  room 
directly  by  the  door  in  the  side  street.  On  inserting  his 
key  in  the  lock  it  met  with  some  resisting  obstacle,  which, 
however,  yielded  and  apparently  dropped  on  the  mat  in- 
side. Opening  the  door  and  stepping  into  the  perfectly 
dark  apartment,  he  trod  upon  this  object,  which  proved  to 
be  another  key.  The  family  must  have  procured  it  for 
their  convenience  during  his  absence,  and  after  locking  the 
door  had  carelessly  left  it  in  the  lock.  It  was  lucky  that 
it  had  yielded  so  readily. 

The  fire  had  gone  out.  He  closed  the  door  and  lit  the 
gas,  and  after  taking  off  his  overcoat  moved  to  the  door 
leading  into  the  passage  to  listen  if  anybody  was  still  stir- 
ring. To  his  utter  astonishment  he  found  it  locked.  What 
was  more  remarkable  —  the  key  was  also  inside!  An 
inexplicable  feeling  took  possession  of  him.  He  glanced 
suddenly  around  the  room,  and  then  his  eye  fell  upon  the 
bed.  Lying  there,  stretched  at  full  length,  was  the  recum- 
bent figure  of  a  man. 

He  was  apparently  in  the  profound  sleep  of  utter  exhaus- 
tion. The  attitude  of  his  limbs  and  the  order  of  his  dress 
—  of  which  only  his  collar  and  cravat  had  been  loosened  — 


A  SECEET  OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL  447 

showed  that  sleep  must  have  overtaken  him  almost  in- 
stantly. In  fact,  the  bed  was  scarcely  disturbed  beyond 
the  actual  impress  of  his  figure.  He  seemed  to  be  a  hand- 
some, matured  man  of  about  forty;  his  dark  straight  hair 
was  a  little  thinned  over  the  temples,  although  his  long 
heavy  mustache  was  still  youthful  and  virgin.  His  clothes, 
which  were  elegantly  cut  and  of  finer  material  than  that 
in  ordinary  use,  the  delicacy  and  neatness  of  his  linen,  the 
whiteness  of  his  hands,  and,  more  particularly,  a  certain 
dissipated  pallor  of  complexion  and  lines  of  recklessness 
on  the  brow  and  cheek,  indicated  to  Herbert  that  the  man 
before  him  was  one  of  that  desperate  and  suspected  class  — 
some  of  whose  proscribed  members  he  had  been  hunting  — 
the  professional  gambler ! 

Possibly  the  magnetism  of  Herbert's  intent  and  aston- 
ished gaze  affected  him.  He  moved  slightly,  half  opened 
his  eyes,  said  "Halloo,  Tap,"  rubbed  them  again,  wholly 
opened  them,  fixed  them  with  a  lazy  stare  on  Herbert,  and 
said :  — 

"Now,  who  the  devil  are  you?" 

"  I  think  I  have  the  right  to  ask  that  question,  consid- 
ering that  this  is  my  room,"  said  Herbert  sharply. 

"  Your  room? " 

"Yes!" 

The  stranger  half  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  glanced 
round  the  room,  settled  himself  slowly  back  on  the  pillows, 
with  his  hands  clasped  lightly  behind  his  head,  dropped 
his  eyelids,  smiled,  and  said :  — 

"Eats!" 

"  What  ? "  demanded  Herbert,  with  a  resentful  sense  of 
sacrilege  to  Cherry's  virgin  slang. 

"Well,  old  rats  then!  D'ye  think  I  don't  know  this 
shebang.  Look  here,  Johnny,  what  are  you  putting  on 
all  this  side  for,  eh?  What 's  your  little  game?  Where  's 
Tappington  ? " 


448  A  SECKET  OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL 

"If  you  mean  Mr.  Brooks,  the  son  of  this  house,  who 
formerly  lived  in  this  room,"  replied  Herbert,  with  a  for- 
mal precision  intended  to  show  a  doubt  of  the  stranger's 
knowledge  of  Tappington,  "you  ought  to  know  that  he 
has  left  town." 

"Left  town!  "  echoed  the  stranger,  raising  himself  again. 
"Oh,  I  see!  getting  rather  too  warm  for  him  here? 
Humph!  I  ought  to  have  thought  of  that.  Well,  you 
know,  he  did  take  mighty  big  risks,  anyway ! "  He  was 
silent  a  moment,  with  his  brows  knit  and  a  rather  danger- 
ous expression  in  his  handsome  face.  "So  some  d — d 
hound  gave  him  away  —  eh  ? " 

"I  hadn't  the  pleasure  of  knowing  Mr.  Brooks  except 
by  reputation,  as  the  respected  son  of  the  lady  upon  whose 
house  you  have  just  intruded,"  said  Herbert  frigidly,  yet 
with  a  creeping  consciousness  of  some  unpleasant  revelation. 

The  stranger  stared  at  him  for  a  moment,  again  looked 
carefully  round  the  room,  and  then  suddenly  dropped  his 
head  back  on  the  pillow,  and  with  his  white  hands  over 
his  eyes  and  mouth  tried  to  restrain  a  spasm  of  silent 
laughter.  After  an  effort  he  succeeded,  wiped  his  moist 
eyes,  and  sat  up. 

"So  you  didn't  know  Tappington,  eh?  "  he  said,  lazily 
buttoning  his  collar. 

"No." 

"No  more  do  I." 

He  retied  his  cravat,  yawned,  rose,  shook  himself  per- 
fectly neat  again,  and  going  to  Herbert's  dressing-table 
quietly  took  up  a  brush  and  began  to  lightly  brush  himself, 
occasionally  turning  to  the  window  to  glance  out.  Pre- 
sently he  turned  to  Herbert  and  said :  — 

"Well,  Johnny,  what's  your  name?" 

"I  am  Herbert  Bly,  of  Carstone's  Bank." 

"  So,  and  a  member  of  this  same  Vigilance  Committee,  I 
reckon,"  he  continued. 


A   SECIIET   OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL  449 

"Yes." 

"Well,  Mr.  Ely,  I  owe  you  an  apology  for  coming  here, 
and  some  thanks  for  the  only  sleep  I  've  had  in  forty-eight 
hours.  I  struck  this  old  shebang  at  about  ten  o'clock,  and 
it 's  now  two,  so  I  reckon  I  've  put  in  about  four  hours' 
square  sleep.  Now,  look  here."  He  beckoned  Herbert 
towards  the  window.  "Do  you  see  those  three  men  stand- 
ing under  that  gaslight?  Well,  they  're  part  of  a  gang 
of  Vigilantes  who  've  hunted  me  to  the  hill,  and  are  wait- 
ing to  see  me  come  out  of  the  bushes,  where  they  reckon 
I  'm  hiding.  Go  to  them  and  say  that  I  'm  here!  Tell 
them  you  've  got  Gentleman  George  —  George  Dornton, 
the  man  they  've  been  hunting  for  a  week  —  in  this  room. 
I  promise  you  I  won't  stir,  nor  kick  up  a  row,  when  they  've 
come.  Do  it,  and  Carstone,  if  he  's  a  square  man,  will 
raise  your  salary  for  it,  and  promote  you."  He  yawned 
slightly,  and  then  slowly  looking  around  him,  drew  the 
easy-chair  towards  him  and  dropped  comfortably  in  it, 
gazing  at  the  astounded  and  motionless  Herbert  with  a  lazy 
smile. 

"You're  wondering  what  my  little  game  is,  Johnny, 
ain't  you?  Well,  I  '11  tell  you.  What  with  being  hunted 
from  pillar  to  post,  putting  my  old  pards  to  no  end  of 
trouble,  and  then  slipping  up  on  it  whenever  I  think  I  've 
got  a  sure  thing  like  this, "  —  he  cast  an  almost  affectionate 
glance  at  the  bed, — "I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
it 's  played  out,  and  I  might  as  well  hand  in  my  checks. 
It 's  only  a  question  of  my  being  run  out  of  'Frisco,  or 
hiding  until  I  can  slip  out  myself;  and  I  've  reckoned  I 
might  as  well  give  them  the  trouble  and  expense  of  trans- 
portation. And  if  I  can  put  a  good  thing  in  your  way  in 
doing  it  —  why,  it  will  sort  of  make  things  square  with  you 
for  the  fuss  I  've  given  you." 

Even  in  the  stupefaction  and  helplessness  of  knowing 
that  the  man  before  him  was  the  notorious  duelist  and 


450  A  SECKET   OF   TELEGKAPH   HILL 

gambler  George  Dornton,  one  of  the  first  marked  for  de- 
portation by  the  Vigilance  Committee,  Herbert  recognized 
all  he  had  heard  of  his  invincible  coolness,  courage,  and 
almost  philosophic  fatalism.  For  an  instant  his  youth- 
ful imagination  checked  even  his  indignation.  "When  he 
recovered  himself  he  said  with  rising  color  and  boyish 
vehemence :  — 

"  Whoever  you  may  be,  I  am  neither  a  police  officer  nor 
a  spy.  You  have  no  right  to  insult  me  by  supposing  that 
I  would  profit  by  the  mistake  that  made  you  my  guest,  or 
that  I  would  refuse  you  the  sanctuary  of  the  roof  that  cov- 
ers your  insult  as  well  as  your  blunder." 

The  stranger  gazed  at  him  with  an  amused  expression, 
and  then  rose  and  stretched  out  his  hand. 

"  Shake,  Mr.  Ely !  You  're  the  only  man  that  ever 
kicked  George  Dornton  when  he  deserved  it.  Good- 
night !  "  He  took  his  hat  and  walked  to  the  door. 

"Stop!"  said  Herbert  impulsively;  "the  night  is  al- 
ready far  gone;  go  back  and  finish  your  sleep." 

"  You  mean  it  t " 

"I  do." 

The  stranger  turned,  walked  back  to  the  bed,  unfasten- 
ing his  coat  and  collar  as  he  did  so,  and  laid  himself  down 
in  the  attitude  of  a  moment  before. 

"I  will  call  you  in  the  morning,"  continued  Herbert. 
"By  that  time,"  —  he  hesitated, — "by  that  time  your 
pursuers  may  have  given  up  their  search.  One  word  more. 
You  will  be  frank  with  me  ? " 

"Goon." 

"  Tappington  and  you  are  —  friends  ?  " 

"Well  — yes." 

"  His  mother  and  sister  know  nothing  of  this  ? " 

"I  reckon  he  did  n't  boast  of  it.  /didn't.  Is  that 
all?"  sleepily. 

"Yes." 


A  SECRET  OF  TELEGRAPH  HILL        451 

"Don't  you  worry  about  him.   Good-night." 

"Good-night." 

But  even  at  that  moment  George  Dornton  had  dropped 
off  in  a  quiet,  peaceful  sleep. 

Ely  turned  down  the  light,  and  drawing  his  easy-chair 
to  the  window,  dropped  into  it  in  bewildering  reflection. 
This  then  was  the  secret  —  unknown  to  mother  and  daugh- 
ter —  unsuspected  by  all !  This  was  the  double  life  of 
Tappington,  half  revealed  in  his  flirtation  with  the  neigh- 
bors, in  the  hidden  cards  behind  the  books,  in  the  myste- 
rious visitor  —  still  unaccounted  for  —  and  now  wholly 
exploded  by  this  sleeping  confederate,  for  whom,  somehow, 
Herbert  felt  the  greatest  sympathy!  What  was  to  be 
done  ?  What  should  he  say  to  Cherry  —  to  her  mother  — 
to  Mr.  Carstone  1  Yet  he  had  felt  he  had  done  right.  From 
time  to  time  he  turned  to  the  motionless  recumbent  shadow 
on  the  bed  and  listened  to  its  slow  and  peaceful  respira- 
tion. Apart  from  that  undefinable  attraction  which  all 
original  natures  have  for  each  other,  the  thrice-blessed 
mystery  of  protection  of  the  helpless,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  seemed  to  dawn  upon  him  through  that  night. 

Nevertheless,  the  actual  dawn  came  slowly.  Twice  he 
nodded  and  awoke  quickly  with  a  start.  The  third  time 
it  was  day.  The  street-lamps  were  extinguished,  and  with 
them  the  moving,  restless  watchers  seemed  also  to  have 
vanished.  Suddenly  a  formal  deliberate  rapping  at  the 
door  leading  to  the  hall  startled  him  to  his  feet. 

It  must  be  Ellen.  So  much  the  better;  he  could 
quickly  get  rid  of  her.  He  glanced  at  the  bed;  Dornton 
slept  on  undisturbed.  He  unlocked  the  door  cautiously, 
and  instinctively  fell  back  before  the  erect,  shawled,  and 
decorous  figure  of  Mrs.  Brooks.  But  an  utterly  new  reso- 
lution and  excitement  had  supplanted  the  habitual  resigna- 
tion of  her  handsome  features,  and  given  them  an  angry 
sparkle  of  expression. 


452  A   SECRET   OF   TELEGRAPH   HILL 

Recollecting  himself,  he  instantly  stepped  forward  into 
the  passage,  drawing  to  the  door  behind  him,  as  she,  with 
equal  celerity,  opposed  it  with  her  hand. 

"Mr.  Ely,"  she  said  deliberately,  "Ellen  has  just  told 
me  that  your  voice  has  been  heard  in  conversation  with 
some  one  in  this  room  late  last  night.  Up  to  this  moment 
I  have  foolishly  allowed  my  daughter  to  persuade  me  that 
certain  infamous  scandals  regarding  your  conduct  here  were 
false.  I  must  ask  you  as  a  gentleman  to  let  me  pass  now 
and  satisfy  myself." 

"But,  my  dear  madam,  one  moment.  Let  me  first  ex- 
plain —  I  beg  "  —  stammered  Herbert,  with  a  half -hysterical 
laugh.  "I  assure  you  a  gentleman  friend"  — 

But  she  had  pushed  him  aside  and  entered  precipitately. 
With  a  quick  feminine  glance  round  the  room  she  turned 
to  the  bed,  .and  then  halted  in  overwhelming  confusion. 

"It's  a  friend,"  said  Herbert  in  a  hasty  whisper.  "A 
friend  of  mine  who  returned  with  me  late,  and  whom,  on 
account  of  the  disturbed  state  of  the  streets,  I  induced  to 
stay  here  all  night.  He  was  so  tired  that  I  have  not  had 
the  heart  to  disturb  him  yet." 

"  Oh,  pray  don't !  —  I  beg  "  —  said  Mrs.  Brooks,  with  a 
certain  youthful  vivacity,  but  still  gazing  at  the  stranger's 
handsome  features  as  she  slowly  retreated.  "Not  for 
worlds !  " 

Herbert  was  relieved;  she  was  actually  blushing. 

"You  see,  it  was  quite  unpremeditated,  I  assure  you. 
We  came  in  together,"  whispered  Herbert,  leading  her 
to  the  door,  "and  I"  — 

"Don't  believe  a  word  of  it,  madam,"  said  a  lazy  voice 
from  the  bed,  as  the  stranger  leisurely  raised  himself  up- 
right, putting  the  last  finishing  touch  to  his  cravat  as  he 
shook  himself  neat  again.  "I'm  an  utter  stranger  to 
him,  and  he  knows  it.  He  found  me  here,  hiding  from 
the  Vigilantes,  who  were  chasing  me  on  the  hill.  I  got 


A  SECRET  OF  TELEGRAPH  HILL  453 

in  at  that  door,  which  happened  to  be  unlocked.  He  let 
me  stay  because  he  was  a  gentleman  —  and  —  I  was  n't.  I 
beg  your  pardon,  madam,  for  having  interrupted  him  be- 
fore you;  but  it  was  a  little  rough  to  have  him  lie  on  my 
account  when  he  was  n't  the  kind  of  man  to  lie  on  his  own. 
You'll  forgive  him  —  won't  you,  please?  —  and,  as  I'm 
taking  myself  off  now,  perhaps  you  '11  overlook  my  intru- 
sion too." 

It  was  impossible  to  convey  the  lazy  frankness  of  this 
speech,  the  charming  smile  with  which  it  was  accom- 
panied, or  the  easy  yet  deferential  manner  with  which,  tak- 
ing up  his  hat,  he  bowed  to  Mrs.  Brooks  as  he  advanced 
toward  the  door. 

"But,"  said  Mrs.  Brooks,  hurriedly  glancing  from  Her- 
bert to  the  stranger,  "it  must  be  the  Vigilantes  who  are 
now  hanging  about  the  street.  Ellen  saw  them  from  her 
window,  and  thought  they  were  your  friends,  Mr.  Ely. 
This  gentleman  —  your  friend  "  —  she  had  become  a  little 
confused  in  her  novel  excitement  —  "really  ought  not  to 
go  out  now.  It  would  be  madness." 

"If  you  wouldn't  mind  his  remaining  a  little  longer,  it 
certainly  would  be  safer,"  said  Herbert,  with  wondering 
gratitude. 

"I  certainly  shouldn't  consent  to  his  leaving  my  house 
now,"  said  Mrs.  Brooks,  with  dignity;  "and  if  you  would  n't 
mind  calling  Cherry  here,  Mr.  Bly  —  she  's  in  the  din- 
ing-room —  and  then  showing  yourself  for  a  moment  in  the 
street  and  finding  out  what  they  wanted,  it  would  be  the 
best  thing  to  do." 

Herbert  flew  downstairs;  in  a  few  hurried  words  he 
gave  the  same  explanation  to  the  astounded  Cherry  that  he 
had  given  to  her  mother,  with  the  mischievous  addition 
that  Mrs.  Brooks's  unjust  suspicions  had  precipitated  her 
into  becoming  an  amicable  accomplice,  and  then  ran  out 
into  the  street.  Here  he  ascertained  from  one  of  the  Vigi- 


454  A  SECEET  OF  TELEGKAPH   HILL 

lantes,  whom  he  knew,  that  they  were  really  seeking  Dorn- 
ton;  but  that,  concluding  that  the  fugitive  had  already  es- 
caped to  the  wharves,  they  expected  to  withdraw  their  sur- 
veillance at  noon.  Somewhat  relieved,  he  hastened  back, 
to  find  the  stranger  calmly  seated  on  the  sofa  in  the  parlor 
with  the  same  air  of  frank  indifference,  lazily  relating  the 
incidents  of  his  flight  to  the  two  women,  who  were  listen- 
ing with  every  expression  of  sympathy  and  interest.  "  Poor 
fellow !  "  said  Cherry,  taking  the  astonished  Ely  aside  into 
the  hall,  "I  don't  believe  he  's  half  as  bad  as  they  say  he 
is  —  or  as  even  he  makes  himself  out  to  be.  But  did  you 
notice  mother  1 " 

Herbert,  a  little  dazed,  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  a  trifle 
uneasy  at  this  ready  acceptance  of  the  stranger,  abstractedly 
said  he  had  not. 

"Why,  it's  the  most  ridiculous  thing.  She's  actually 
going  round  without  her  shawl,  and  does  n't  seem  to  know 
it." 

V 

When  Herbert  finally  reached  the  bank  that  morning 
he  was  still  in  a  state  of  doubt  and  perplexity.  He  had 
parted  with  his  grateful  visitor,  whose  safety  in  a  few  hours 
seemed  assured,  but  without  the  least  further  revelation  or 
actual  allusion  to  anything  antecedent  to  his  selecting  Tap- 
pington's  room  as  refuge.  More  than  that,  Herbert  was 
convinced  from  his  manner  that  he  had  no  intention  of 
making  a  confidante  of  Mrs.  Brooks,  and  this  convinced  him 
that  Dornton's  previous  relations  with  Tappington  were 
not  only  utterly  inconsistent  with  that  young  man's  deco- 
rous reputation,  but  were  unsuspected  by  the  family.  The 
stranger's  familiar  knowledge  of  the  room,  his  mysterious 
allusions  to  the  "risks"  Tappington  had  taken,  and  his 
sudden  silence  on  the  discovery  of  Ely's  ignorance  of  the 
whole  affair  —  all  pointed  to  some  secret  that,  innocent  or 
not,  was  more  or  less  perilous,  not  only  to  the  son  but  to 


A  SECEET  OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL  455 

the  mother  and  sister.  Of  the  latter 's  ignorance  he  had 
no  doubt  —  but  had  he  any  right  to  enlighten  them? 
Admitting  that  Tappington  had  deceived  them  with  the 
others,  would  they  thank  him  for  opening  their  eyes  to  it  ? 
If  they  had  already  a  suspicion,  would  they  care  to  know 
that  it  was  shared  by  him  ?  Halting  between  his  frankness 
and  his  delicacy,  the  final  thought  that  in  his  budding  re- 
lations with  the  daughter  it  might  seem  a  cruel  bid  for  her 
confidence,  or  a  revenge  for  their  distrust  of  him,  inclined 
him  to  silence.  But  an  unforeseen  occurrence  took  the 
matter  from  his  hands.  At  noon  he  was  told  that  Mr.  Car- 
stone  wished  to  see  him  in  his  private  room ! 

Satisfied  that  his  complicity  with  Dornton's  escape  was 
discovered,  the  unfortunate  Herbert  presented  himself, 
pale  but  self-possessed,  before  his  employer.  That  brief 
man  of  business  bade  him  be  seated,  and  standing  himself 
before  the  fireplace,  looked  down  curiously,  but  not  un- 
kindly, upon  his  employee. 

"Mr.  Ely,  the  bank  does  not  usually  interfere  with  the 
private  affairs  of  its  employees,  but  for  certain  reasons 
which  I  prefer  to  explain  to  you  later,  I  must  ask  you  to 
give  me  a  straightforward  answer  to  one  or  two  questions. 
I  may  say  that  they  have  nothing  to  do  with  your  rela- 
tions to  the  bank,  which  are  to  us  perfectly  satisfactory." 

More  than  ever  convinced  that  Mr.  Carstone  was  about 
to  speak  of  his  visitor,  Herbert  signified  his  willingness  to 
reply. 

"You  have  been  seen  a  great  deal  with  Miss  Brooks 
lately  —  on  the  street  and  elsewhere  —  acting  as  her  escort, 
and  evidently  on  terms  of  intimacy.  To  do  you  both  jus- 
tice, neither  of  you  seemed  to  have  made  it  a  secret  or 
avoided  observation;  but  I  must  ask  you  directly  if  it  is 
with  her  mother's  permission?  " 

Considerably  relieved,  but  wondering  what  was  coming, 
Herbert  answered,  with  boyish  frankness,  that  it  was. 


456  A   SECRET   OF   TELEGRAPH   HILL 

"Are  you  —  engaged  to  the  young  lady  1  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  Are  you  —  well,  Mr.  Ely  —  briefly,  are  you  what  ie 
called  '  in  love  '  with  her  ?  "  asked  the  banker,  with  a  cer- 
tain brusque  hurrying  over  of  a  sentiment  evidently  incom- 
patible with  their  present  business  surroundings. 

Herbert  blushed.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  heard 
the  question  voiced,  even  by  himself. 

"I  am,"  he  said  resolutely. 

"And  you  wish  to  marry  her1?  " 

"  If  I  dared  ask  her  to  accept  a  young  man  with  no  posi- 
tion as  yet,"  stammered  Herbert. 

"People  don't  usually  consider  a  young  man  in  Car- 
stone's  Bank  of  no  position,"  said  the  banker  dryly;  "and 
I  wish  for  your  sake  that  were  the  only  impediment.  For 
I  am  compelled  to  reveal  to  you  a  secret. "  He  paused,  and 
folding  his  arms,  looked  fixedly  down  upon  his  clerk. 
"Mr.  Bly,  Tappington  Brooks,  the  brother  of  your  sweet- 
heart, was  a  defaulter  and  embezzler  from  this  bank ! " 

Herbert  sat  durnfounded  and  motionless. 

"Understand  two  things,"  continued  Mr.  Carstone 
quickly.  "  First,  that  no  purer  or  better  women  exist  than 
Miss  Brooks  and  her  mother.  Secondly,  that  they  know 
nothing  of  this,  and  that  only  myself  and  one  other  man 
are  in  possession  of  the  secret." 

He  slightly  changed  his  position,  and  went  on  more  de- 
liberately. "Six  weeks  ago  Tappington  sat  in  that  chair 
where  you  are  sitting  now,  a  convicted  hypocrite  and  thief. 
Luckily  for  him,  although  his  guilt  was  plain,  and  the 
whole  secret  of  his  double  life  revealed  to  me,  a  sum  of 
money  advanced  in  pity  by  one  of  his  gambling  confeder- 
ates had  made  his  accounts  good  and  saved  him  from  sus- 
picion in  the  eyes  of  his  fellow  clerks  and  my  partners. 
At  first  he  tried  to  fight  me  on  that  point;  then  he  blustered 
and  said  his  mother  could  have  refunded  the  money ;  and 


A  SECRET   OF  TELEGRAPH   HILL  457 

asked  me  what  was  a  paltry  five  thousand  dollars !  I  told 
him,  Mr.  Ely,  that  it  might  be  five  years  of  his  youth  in 
state  prison;  that  it  might  be  five  years  of  sorrow  and 
shame  for  his  mother  and  sister;  that  it  might  be  an  ever- 
lasting stain  on  the  name  of  his  dead  father  —  my  friend. 
He  talked  of  killing  himself :  I  told  him  he  was  a  cowardly 
fool.  He  asked  me  to  give  him  up  to  the  authorities:  I 
told  him  I  intended  to  take  the  law  in  my  own  hands  and 
give  him  another  chance;  and  then  he  broke  down.  I 
transferred  him  that  very  day,  without  giving  him  time  to 
communicate  with  anybody,  to  our  branch  office  at  Port- 
land, with  a  letter  explaining  his  position  to  our  agent,  and 
the  injunction  that  for  six  months  he  should  be  under 
strict  surveillance.  I  myself  undertook  to  explain  his  sud- 
den departure  to  Mrs.  Brooks,  and  obliged  him  to  write  to 
her  from  time  to  time."  He  paused,  and  then  continued: 
"So  far  I  believe  my  plan  has  been  successful:  the  secret 
has  been  kept;  he  has  broken  with  the  evil  associates  that 
ruined  him  here  —  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge  he  has  had 
no  communication  with  them  since ;  even  a  certain  woman 
here  who  shared  his  vicious  hidden  life  has  abandoned 
him." 

"Are  you  sure?"  asked  Herbert  involuntarily,  as  he 
recalled  his  mysterious  visitor. 

"I  believe  the  Vigilance  Committee  has  considered  it 
a  public  duty  to  deport  her  and  her  confederates  beyond 
the  State,"  returned  Carstone  dryly. 

Another  idea  flashed  upon  Herbert.  "  And  the  gambler 
who  advanced  the  money  to  save  Tappington  ? "  he  said 
breathlessly. 

"Wasn't  such  a  hound  as  the  rest  of  his  kind,  if  report 
says  true,"  answered  Carstone.  "He  was  well  known  here 
as  George  Dornton  —  Gentleman  George  —  a  man  capable 
of  better  things. .  But  he  was  before  your  time,  Mr.  Bly 
—  you  don't  know  him." 


458  A   SECRET   OF   TELEGRAPH   HILL 

Herbert  did  n't  deem  it  a  felicitous  moment  to  correct 
his  employer,  and  Mr.  Carstone  continued:  "I  have  now 
told  you  what  I  thought  it  was  my  duty  to  tell  you.  I 
must  leave  you  to  judge  how  far  it  affects  your  relations 
with  Miss  Brooks. " 

Herbert  did  not  hesitate.  "I  should  be  very  sorry,  sir, 
to  seem  to  undervalue  your  consideration  or  disregard  your 
warning;  but  I  am  afraid  that  even  if  you  had  been  less 
merciful  to  Tappington,  and  he  were  now  a  convicted  felon, 
I  should  change  neither  my  feelings  nor  my  intentions  to 
his  sister." 

"  And  you  would  still  marry  her  ? "  said  Carstone 
sternly;  "you,  an  employee  of  the  bank,  would  set  the  ex- 
ample of  allying  yourself  with  one  who  had  robbed  it  1 " 

"I  —  am  afraid  I  would,  sir,"  said  Herbert  slowly. 

"  Even  if  it  were  a  question  of  your  remaining  here  1 " 
said  Carstone  grimly. 

Poor  Herbert  already  saw  himself  dismissed  and  again 
taking  up  his  weary  quest  for  employment;  but,  neverthe- 
less, he  answered  stoutly :  — 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  nothing  will  prevent  you  marrying  Miss  Brooks  ?  " 

"  Nothing  —  save  my  inability  to  support  her. " 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Carstone,  with  a  peculiar  light  in  his 
eyes,  "  it  only  remains  for  the  bank  to  mark  its  opinion  of 
your  conduct  by  increasing  your  salary  to  enable  you  to 
do  so.  Shake  hands,  Mr.  Bly,"  he  said,  laughing.  "I 
think  you  '11  do  to  tie  to  —  and  I  believe  the  young  lady 
will  be  of  the  same  opinion.  But  not  a  word  to  either  her 
or  her  mother  in  regard  to  what  you  have  heard.  And 
now  I  may  tell  you  something  more.  I  am  not  without 
hope  of  Tappington' s  future,  nor  —  d — n  it! — without 
some  excuse  for  his  fault,  sir.  He  was  artificially  brought 
up.  When  my  old  friend  died,  Mrs.  Brooks,  still  a  hand- 
some woman,  like  all  her  sex  wouldn't  rest  until  she  had 


A   SECEET   OF   TELEGRAPH   HILL  459 

another  devotion,  and  wrapped  herself  and  her  children  up 
in  the  Church.  Theology  may  be  all  right  for  grown 
people,  but  it's  apt  to  make  children  artificial;  and  Tap- 
pington  was  pious  before  he  was  fairly  good.  He  drew  oil 
a  religious  credit  before  he  had  a  moral  capital  behind  it. 
He  was  brought  up  with  no  knowledge  of  the  world,  and 
when  he  went  into  it  —  it  captured  him.  I  don't  say  there 
are  not  saints  born  into  the  world  occasionally;  but  for 
every  one  you  '11  find  a  lot  of  promiscuous  human  nature. 
My  old  friend  Josh  Brooks  had  a  heap  of  it,  and  it  wouldn't 
be  strange  if  some  was  left  in  his  children,  and  burst 
through  their  strait-lacing  in  a  queer  way.  That 's  all ! 
Good-morning,  Mr.  Ely.  Forget  what  I  've  told  you  for 
six  months,  and  then  I  should  n't  wonder  if  Tappington 
was  on  hand  to  give  his  sister  away." 

Mr.  Carstone's  prophecy  was  but  half  realized.  At  the 
end  of  six  months  Herbert  Ely's  discretion  and  devotion 
were  duly  rewarded  by  Cherry's  hand.  But  Tappington 
did  not  give  her  away.  That  saintly  prodigal  passed  his 
period  of  probation  with  exemplary  rectitude,  but,  either 
from  a  dread  of  old  temptation  or  some  unexplained  reason, 
he  preferred  to  remain  in  Portland,  and  his  fastidious  nest 
on  Telegraph  Hill  knew  him  no  more.  The  key  of  the 
little  door  on  the  side  street  passed,  naturally,  into  the  keep- 
ing of  Mrs.  Bly. 

Whether  the  secret  of  Tappington 's  double  life  was  ever 
revealed  to  the  two  women  is  not  known  to  the  chronicler. 
Mrs.  Bly  is  reported  to  have  said  that  the  climate  of 
Oregon  was  more  suited  to  her  brother's  delicate  constitu- 
tion than  the  damp  fogs  of  San  Francisco,  and  that  his  tastes 
were  always  opposed  to  the  mere  frivolity  of  metropolitan 
society.  The  only  possible  reason  for  supposing  that  the 
mother  may  have  become  cognizant  of  her  son's  youthful 
errors  was  in  the  occasional  visits  to  the  house  of  the  hand- 


460  A   SECEET   OF   TELEGKAPH   HILL 

some  George  Dornton,  who,  in  the  social  revolution  that 
followed  the  brief  reign  of  the  Vigilance  Committee,  char- 
acteristically returned  as  a  dashing  stockbroker,  and  the 
fact  that  Mrs.  Brooks  seemed  to  have  discarded  her  ascetic 
shawl  forever.  But  as  all  this  was  contemporaneous  with 
the  absurd  rumor,  that  owing  to  the  loneliness  induced  by 
the  marriage  of  her  daughter  she  contemplated  a  similar 
change  in  her  own  condition,  it  is  deemed  unworthy  the 
serious  consideration  of  this  veracious  chronicle. 


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